Look out the window sometime; 
with the bold winds dancing through
the Banyan trees it’s pretty in a lanced way, 
a little bodega in the neighborhood-way. 
From the balcony, I can hear gentle laughter 
of soccer boys and soccer girls 
kicking dogwood trees instead of soccer balls. 
Damn, if it doesn’t get me every time. 
If I were older, I would have fled the scene
and left the dimes and dollars for a loss—
but the balanced way the sun light 
hits the nonsense breeze — 

makes me look left and right 
and over and under every time.


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