Just my street
And the green bags are curbside
The roaring truck soon to visit.
That marmalade cat two doors down
Cocked on the grassy knoll
Bird-lunch in focus.
That father laid off
Trimming the lawn
To keep from drying up.
New car, shiny black Hyundai
Getting the oohs and aahhs
From the envious younger set.
No one addressing
The monthly payments.
Kicking the stones
Almost going in reverse
As afternoon classes beckon.
Still loves the smell
Of clean sheets
Hanging some out to flutter.
Her next mail drop
Holding government issue
Invoices, sad news
Or other gossip in her hot, speckled hands.
And few will stop
And smile with cheer
And offer the “thumbs up.”
But still apparently
On my street.
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