Monday, December 11, 2006

Poem #1

Red is an obvious accessory to any worthwhile suburban scene. She said once that lawn ornaments are practically equal to works of art. I said my Civic is better than your Corolla, so there. One step down, into the lawn, looking back at bricks as if touching them, the damp of rain that had just fallen. Ideas are invisible like cars in blockbuster movies and fish below the water’s surface. I was invisible for a day in January; they all thought it was neat how I moved her hair back like a brush of wind.

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