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On Saturday Night My Brother and I Go to the Auction

By Cindy Beebe Poetry

We frequent the one where there will be the auctioneer who is predisposed toward hats, who is wearing a red fez tonight while I am not bidding on the stuffed mink cemented to a wooden board, or the colorful antique lard can. I never buy anything except nachos in the back which is when the…

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