Share 'The Sunday Poem: Zachary Kluckman . . . The Lions of Dusk'
The Lions of Dusk
The politicians call it the international district. The people who live here speak its true name with pride. The war zone, where the veteran’s administration and hooded, heavy lidded kids share the drug slingers corner.
The ice cream trucks play Christmas jingles in the middle of summer, June dark bodies like cicadas, the children climb over fences to chase a white truck fu…
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