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Anger lives in a trailer just on the outskirts of town.
He collects rusted out cars and discarded engine parts and keeps
nails and screws and tacks in old coffee cans.
Anything sharp will do.

When those damn kids come by and throw rocks at the yard
just to see how fast they can rile him up and get him out on the porch, yelling,
aiming for a deeper shade of crimson,
he doesn't disappoint.
One o' these days he's gonna explode!
They laugh and run away to chase some other childhood lark.

But Anger doesn't run away,
he lays in wait sustained by bile stew. He plots revenge
and runs hurtful memories in his head like bad movies.
When he dozes off and wakes up dreamy,
he claws his way back to the rancor,
fearing for his life,
relieved to find his way home again to indignation.

For what would he be without his rage?
What would happen if he dropped his defenses and
exposed his aching lonely heart for all to see?
Better to live here with his blind junkyard dog, Fear,
than take the chance.

Still, Hope lives in the crawl space under the porch.
Anger would fume if he knew!
She just sits there patiently and smiles, she knows that times come
for old dogs to die
and eventually Love always comes to call,
even if she comes with Death.


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