Scrape, Scrape, Scrape 2 Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Scrape, Scrape, Scrape 2



Scrape, scrape, scrape.
Hear it?
Wait until the trains have crossed over the bridge
And the mockingbirds have finally settled down.
Listen as the man wields his precision blade.
Scraping any trace of the past from his marrow.

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