the fat sun
lolls low in the morning sky
pine trees line the street
casting long shadows
across the asphalt
a runner hunched half over
speeds through a gap
in traffic
following
silent train tracks
i wait for the crows
who have found something
unknowable but edible
in the grass
i taste the dust
of the field behind my
childhood home
chickens, horses
beyond the field
a neighbor of sorts
whose peacock
is crying
——
It’s STILL National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 20
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