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Tuesday, September 21

By Sophia Marie Green

As I drive through the streets

around the familar turns

up the hill

past the pool

where cars spill onto the road

from the parking lot

the laughter of children

and splashes of water that I can almost feel

past the lake

where I used to fish with my dad

my little pink pole next to his big one

up the hill

green on either side of me

through the winding subdivisions

windows downs

a slow breeze

that you don't feel bad about for enjoying

on cool summer evenings

the smell of barbecue drifts to my nose

and I wonder who's cooking

I sit outside today

it's nice, for once

not snowing or burning or raining

just nice

and I hate it here

the houses all look the same

as do the people in them

a few people know names around here

mostly if they have kids who's friends

with their own kids

they talk outside houses

a foot in the door

waiting for them to

shut the hell up

angry glares as my brother drives past

he listens to rap music

he must be violent

a single blm sign

gone now

overpowered by the Trump ones

I think there might be a pride flag

a few streets over

my friends mom

ignores it as desperatly as she can

the stillness of the street

is almost scary

nobody enters the bubble of our neighborhood

who would want to

who would ever come near

there's nothing worth it here

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