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They split the hog down the middle.
It was cold and raining, I remember
they all left the body like a ghost.
Take care to roll it
Be gentle. It might all just fall apart at your touch.
But I know little of the shape of a breast,
and I was promised
No one thought to call the police.
They ran when she began coughing
It was the time
There was dinner:
and your father said she was clean.
Dexter L. Booth, born in 1986, earned an MFA in creative writing from Arizona State University. His poems have appeared in Amendement, Grist, the New Delta Review, and Willow Springs. His debut collection, "Scratching the Ghost," is the winner of the Cave Canem Poetry Prize, selected by Major Jackson. He lives in Tempe, Ariz.
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