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Eighty-eight at Midnight
A black calf bleats at shrivelled teats. Incessant heat withers the wheat and wilts the silking corn. Too few, too late the spotty showers mock my stunted flowers. Too late I shrink from debt. Like a spitted calf I turn over a bed of coals while the pastures burn.
Timothy Murphy
From The Deed of Gift, Story Line Press, © 1998. Reprinted by permission of the
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