grass grows like mad in may
failing to see his brother, i
commit murder with mower.
ashamed…i finish lawn only
to flee indoors from grieving
parents frantically hopping…
hoping a better future for this
adolescent on the edge of life
and flight training; he chirps
mournfully, poops on the deck
railing…still reeling, he flies low
to refuge under lilac’s shadow…
i pray the cats don’t find him.
a poem in my pocket 
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