Ann Cotten

(1982 / Ames, Iowa)

DEFENSIVE TALK - Poem by Ann Cotten

They're sputtering like motors with no clue,
the oil wants to get out and spits
words only to lose them
like dead good mousers.

The mouser's paws lie, stiff, beside the well,
gathering gravel to the small wet heart.
What made it stick so closely to the ground?
No man's innocent motors.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 25, 2018

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