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Blades

Blades

many a morning

she sat on her narrow drive

and scooted along with a pair of scissors

conforming each blade

no wild weeds here

and in the fall

she’d gather dead leaves

and black bag ‘em

and carry ‘em across the street

lining them up just so

 but some things could not be controlled

bike treads and hydrant dogs and solitary soles

would come and go

and if she were in her right mind

this day

those cars parked on her lawn

haphazard

would be towed

far, far away

TL

Published inTamiko Lowery