But when it was her turn
she needed me to maneuver
in a way that hurt my back
during and afterward
so I stopped giving her turns
and mine stopped coming, too.
We keelhauled our contagions;
should've killed them in their cribs.
All too familiar:
She looks like her
or close enough.
The smell would throw the illusion
but it can be made to work.
Susceptible miscreants
run from the huntsman.
I think I died
sometime on Wednesday.
Tell 'em "Smile."
Tell 'em "Sorry."
Tell 'em anything but the truth.
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