A bat in the stands–
–now wrapped in leathery hands.
The secret vinegar murky in Canadian veins,
Something wicked has thawed from winter pains.
A raspy, throaty call, an elk in the distance?
Or the beast of silent knife falls?
The bat is yours. Swim three rows deep of Maple leaf
and rip it from this king’s claws,
or let it be.
A thousand thank yous to this unpronounceable man.
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