Between a Fence and Field

Ducking tennis balls in the narrow lane
between a fence and field, we were buccaneers,
peasants poaching eden’s apples, brigands
in this land of pressed trousers
and buttoned down collars, casually loosened
ties embroidered with the marks of
modern nobles, here pressed into the recesses
of a crumbling southern ghetto.

Too near a wide highway buzzed with traffic
pilgrims laden with treasure and care
hummed intermezzo and shouted amens.


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