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Dead Grasshoppers

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we called it the loop.
it was really a culdesac
we knew of little beyond it
as safe haven- it kept us naive.
i remember the anticipation
sitting in those little school desks
aching to jump on our bicycles
to ride in circles around the loop
such a simplistic thrill.
summertime we'd sale lemonade
to the visitors-the unknown faces
who'd come for seasonal garage sales.
when autumn came we'd feast
sitting at the children's table
mouths full of turkey and pumpkin pie.
then we'd scamper outside with busting bellies
and flood the loop to play it all off.
Christmas time-or winter as we call it with age
would fall like fragile snowflakes on our noses
we'd pray for a snow day-all of us on our little knees
and when we got one
well we'd play til we were sure our toes would fall off
but mom would always have a mug of hot coco to warm us
...as long as we took our boots off before coming in.
and when the snow thawed
and spring bounced along
we'd run through the grass lot
the vacant one up the road
at the very limit of our loop.
we'd play wiffle ball
and catch 'wild' grasshoppers
-of course they'd pass within days to our dismay
..we must have tormented hundreds unknowingly.
but to us, they were souvenirs
holders of memories-their moments dead
in that little culdesac we called
the loop





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