Most people on our street greet Fall with pumpkins
and campaign signs.
Someone's planted
MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN
--just like it was, I suppose,in the fifties,
when men were men. We knew then
we were fighting the right wars.
Next door they've fenced their yard with flowers,
a bright thicket fence, dense with yellows, purples, reds
humming, bee visited.
From their power lines birds sit
and comment. It's not political, just
a place to perch--
to pour, fall voluble, their calls
on repeat. Some bird version of
KEEP OFF MY LINE,
my branch, my bit of street.
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