Children mow lawns circling the garden,
“not a mean bone in her body.”
Not the way
daggers erected as miniature cities amid grassy byways
would vindicate hoarding.
Clippers transported ivory and porcelain
dominoes and silk
for the mill owner’s affectations.
However voracious his appetite for coins
there was other clawing
in pockets of his heart.
A hundred fists stupefied hornpipes
soon hushed by rotting
The secret of Easy Street
multiplying what we are
“if the said Rachell marey and have a Child
or Children and hur husband
then my will is that the said land
and howses Returne
… for the use of frinds”
Still, an extra T token comes in my mail.
Dash off for Quarterly Meeting down nectar
byways. Plan a wedding. Parade to the cemetery
where brass bands are playing. Wax the harness.
They expect me to be the strong one
in a shaky profession.
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Poem originally appeared in Lucid Moon