Bull Run

Again they flee through us,
Ash-smeared men, delirious
With fear, men of bright
White teeth glinting in

Scorching, dry July heat
That makes delicate ladies in pink
Petticoats sweat bullets that smear
And blear bulbous, top-hated

Men, resplendent in red vests
That cling too tightly to
Fat arms with dirty nail tips
That point and poke and prod at

The wild men rushing through,
The wild men rushing through.

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