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Marge’s husband drove a pickup truck with one hand. He drank alcohol and, in his cups, shot off his arm with a carelessly-regarded shotgun. Many years later he died on a rubber mat, too old and feeble to speak or feed himself or wipe his own ass.

Marge left the farm in the 1930’s and moved to the city. She had to pay for things the farm had given her her for free: milk, eggs, butter, vegetables and meat. She helped make the bombs that America used to defeat Hitler and the Nazis. When cancer overtook her tired body, Marge also died.


THIS IS MARGE’S GRAND-DAUGHTER.

 


Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved