'Don't let the bastards grind you down'
It was something a mother would say to her daughter as she left for school
Slipping her arms through the straps of her backpack
Her mother twisting her fingers around her ponytail
'Don't let the bastards grind you down'
In a sickly sweet voice
One of amusement
With a 'honey', almost forgotten, pasted sloppily on the end
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