Guerilla

I carried a bullet in my neck,
pineapple plantation on my back.

I carried the grief of another human,
spine protected only by shell.

I carried a thousand flaming orange tides,
shoulders burned only sometimes.

My brother told me once he stopped
his car to save a turtle.

My brother ran to pick up the shelled giant,
but another car broke him, beat him to it.

My brother cried in the street,
turtle blood, shell, and that spine.

 

 

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