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RAUD KENNEDY |
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Budweiser |
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Nestled |
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among the algae speckled rocks, |
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the beer cap |
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stares skyward at the desert sun. |
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Twisted off |
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on a camping trip years ago, |
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a thumb and finger |
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flicked it into the air |
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where for a moment |
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it attained flight |
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as it spun |
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over the downward slope |
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like a UFO. |
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But now |
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it lays crashed, rusty and sharp, |
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waiting |
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for a pair of bare feet |
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to patter by. |
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