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The Living Street
A Poem About The Human Place
My street has the rhythms of a living thing.
She stirs at predawn with a sleepy groan
Uttered by the lone trash truck,
Like an alarm clock
Of crashing garbage cans.
Her morning is full of complaints
Vented by car's wining motors.
She takes a steady pace
Through the morning
Errands and chores.
The afternoon is like a hunt,
Serious, and deadly; and
Full of last minute deliveries.
Then like a struggling beast
Who defends her territory
Cars roar to garages and lots-
Before another takes their space.
The late afternoon is filled
With the laughter of bicycles,
Stick ball and, soccer on the asphalt.
As twilight falls she turns quiet,
Sleepy, and thoughtful;
When tangled lovers walk her lanes.
As night wraps her in silence
She sleeps dangerous like a bear;
Her street lamp like the dragon's eye
Casts a dim circle of light;
As a family of raccoons pass through
Looking for a ripe trash can.
(c) Adron Dozat 2015
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(c) Adron 5/23/15