The Pines
Behind Snow Drive,
rusty needles led to a pine grove,
where we made little circles
with dirty rocks
and lit little fires
with matches lifted
from the corner store.
These days the pines
that survive make little circles
of shade in a trail
of three-car garages
and realtors’ signs.
The old store stays open
in our heads.
Finish Line
The knees will need braces.
The bones rebel.
The memory
turn traitor: rust to dust.
Hoops and hurdles.
Heartbreak Hills.
Fast as a mayfly or
slow as a sermon. Either way,
you’ll finally cross it.
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