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Seattle Elegy

Dew damp spider webs
bar our walkway
like thread-fine laundry lines.
White roses
crumple to my right,
dry rhododendron
I was told to deadhead,
then Dad left.
Pocket of my shirt holds
twelve sharp pencils,
erasers not yet chewed,
college ruled white paper,
pristine pee-chee folder
same white athletes
front and back.
Roast beef sandwich,
chips and snickers bar,
smushable banana.
Pastel yellow lunch bag,
softening to silk
in my sweaty finger clutch.
At the bus stop someone's
gonna kick my ass.
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