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HEIRLOOM

  

My parents had one of their rows. What passed my head—

was he reviling the stew and the pearl barley

or was she treating him to her wit, whittling his pride

to the cookhouse failure he couldn’t blanco clean

that he was?—I don’t know, go back though I do.

...

(For full text see the Kindle ebook The Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)

   

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