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Atrocities


by Gary Hardaway


I crush the ants without a thought
and swat the buzzing fly flat.
My table offers up the gutted calf
with carrots and potatoes yanked
alive and whole from fertile beds.
When I am sick, I swallow pills
that realize microbial genocide.
My life depends upon abundant death.
I'd make a scrawny and diseased
disciple of the Buddha.
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