THE LAST SPY

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After the great boating accident of 1972, my friend  Therissa and her husband, John, moved out to a little farm in Indiana to escape from city life, and to prevent their identities from being revealed. It was an unpleasent  way to say goodbye, especially because they had managed to rid themselves of phone numbers, social security numbers, birth sertificates, and family history. I, on the other hand, grudgingly moved back to live with my mother, who had heard all about my misadventures with the government. She was the type of woman who would posses an AK-47 and not be afraid to use it; especially on her loved ones.

Copyright 2012 Golden Star Poetry

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