restricted access Gluttony
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52 Gluttony Reverend Minister, fattened lamb of God’s increase: coveralls stretched over a downed belly, face a bit slack in the jowls. Enjoying the heft of an old slaughtering hammer so squat in his hand. By the grain of grease-rubbed wood beneath a palm, the Reverend Minister is overcome. He raises two fingers in benediction over his land, blesses the green-sprouting world, both fingernails crowded with a crust of red dirt. He praises the Lord for this his bounty— for the thin-necked goat before him, the humble ruminant, gnawing at a heap of crabgrass in the field. For the taste of stewed chevon. For the black goat’s pale irises glancing back from the lowered, simple head. The Reverend Minister lifts the ball peen in a state of unrelenting grace, forgets to ask the Lord’s indulgence as he swings. The goat, head still hung low, charges—horn straight to belly. ...

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