Poetry | June 19, 2020

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PUERTO  BARRIOS,  GT—She  knew where

power came from. How the chord made

it bright once plugged into her wall. If she

really thought about it, the outlet looked like

a frightened porcelain doll, or a gringo.

She  knew  they  couldn’t  keep buying gas for

the generator. Not if the price kept increasing.

There must be an easier way.

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