Yard Bags

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At last the rundown hands
clip off the dead tree branches,
the lawnmower coughs out black smoke
taking its first drink since last season
and the neighbors shut their windows.
Fishing for some yard bags from last year,
tossing the saggy paper onto the concrete.
Gazing at the garage door close,
questioning why the bags are so lumpy,
wrinkles every inch, like a big boned babies skin,
not even half full.






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