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Poem	The fishermen on Lake Michigan, sometimes, For kicks, they spit two hunks of bait on hooks At either end of a single length of line And toss that up among the scavenging gulls, Who go for it so fast that often two of them Make the connection before it hits the water. Hooked and hung up like that, they do a dance That lasts only so long. The fishermen Do that for kicks, on Lake Michigan, sometimes.
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