By Brent Schaeffer, Seattle
At recess he told me
how eating spaghetti-o's
he saw Sasquatch out his window.
His dad was snowblowing
the driveway on a big white day,
and as he passed the window,
carhartt coveralls disappearing in a swirl
of powder, Terry took another scoop
of starchy, sticky soup in time
to look up and see-
screaming was useless,
the glass, the roar of the machine,
and no one ever believed him-
the tall white shoulder
heavy against the house.
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