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  1. THE PANTOMIME

    A wren’s pantomime on the brittle branch
    is so much like presiding over life down here.

    Shape up, toe the line, be civilized, connect,
    or run the risk of being cut down to size.

    Why can one not remain alone, a wood hermit
    or an anarchist maybe? Why join a lumpen lot?

    From its perch, the wren swipes its bill back
    and forth on a dead limb sharpening for a kill.

    A hog sneezes, betrays its refuge, quivers back
    into its hole. Too late. It has joined the pack.

    In this part of the woods, beaks are scimitars
    to keep the venturous lumped in their holes.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    07-16-11


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