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On Emigrating to Iceland after Iraq | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Consider first the Alabama heat,
consider next the toad

still as a turd on this rural bridge
rupture slung across a stream

where offal floats,
where clumps are belching.

Note the toad, the reeks
that genie up beside it.

Then remember Iceland
and the freshets of its Spring.

Iceland had no toads,
no reeks to genie up beside them.

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