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  • Writer's picturewhit


There's a back road on the border of town that takes you to the interstate and restaurants and bike trails.

There's a back road  on the edge of town that I drove to run away from missing you, from feeling inadequate.

There's a beaver on that back road on the brink of town close to creek that builds a dam, that isolates itself.

There's a back road  on the frontier of town that I drove today to escape from you, to escape from growing up.

I passed the dam and I saw that beaver dead in the middle of that ​back road.

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