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Rabid
The gray fox sat
and gazed at us like an angel—
one that foamed at the mouth.
I refuse to write
another poem about
the goddamn crows.
Holding a rifle
is like holding an infant,
wary of setting it off.
Poems on the topic: rifle
Poems on the topic “rifle” on Poets.by.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
Or try: