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H.T. Grossen

A Scarf of oak

Teeth like tombstones

Beard of flaming steel wool

Hands a pangea of calluses

Sap stained axe head

Leans next to thickly patched denim knee

At the bar he sits behind a mountain of flapjacks

Angry steam escapes a thick yellow pad of butter

Flannel bars hold back monstrous biceps

While a dull steel fork delivers its offering

The ancient wood rustles a challenge

With the creak and smack of a scarred screen-door

This moose of a man rumbles to work

Victory another chop away

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