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Swatting Flies

Now that I've used up all my ideas

Here in my little house by the sea

I search for a usable memory

But none comes to meIn grade one, my teacher could do embalming

She'd stuff the bodies of dead little birds

She told us if ever we found one

Just to bring it to herAnd in the science room was an iguana

It lay very still in its cage

And we'd feed him living fliesThen she'd read the old testament to us

But first she'd remind us the stories were true

And we'd hear of locusts and plagues

And the tortures they knew

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