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Genocide of Pins

Beneath the bowling-alley
bar marquee
the rain tonight
 
hammers off
the concrete.
Inside, beer flops
 
bottle into glass.
Beyond the bar,
bright lights
 
reveal a Bowler’s day:
fluorescent shirts
red, yellow, green,
 
and everywhere
a roar so loud
one can barely hear
 
the genocide of pins
slain by balls
a lifetime now in transit.
 
 
Donal Mahoney

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