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Trump’s election week

Jane Blaikie


A Sunday, he’s sixteen,

works four hours, no pay,

a trial in the New World

butchery. Impresses

a grid on mince, bins

dated steak. Gets a

Warehouse job

instead, zero hours

but paid to train.


The demos are watching

Adirondack zombies

hunt New York

vampires while

a shooting star

takes out

the sheriff.


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