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Dustin Neal

the boys

the neighborhood boys could always be seen outside every mother's kitchen window, tree branches pointed at one another yelling out, "pow! you're dead, you're dead!" the lucky boys got to wear their grandpa's world war two camouflage, the fastest boys shot you first, the skilled boys stayed alive, they were just boys being boys, young and alive.

by candlelight . . .
mother dusts
a purple heart