18 June 2011


cartwheel in a churchyard, the
slow tolling of insects and
the red-white-blue-red-white-blue flash of
bunting tacked, firmly, once

again the strains of Sousa
through the tree limbs and
the doughboy of stone stands,
ever at the ready, his arms

at his side, the names in
type metallic-small,
tarnished, on an obelisk marble-
bordered, the fountain long

since parched dry under the sun, the
trenches dug for flowers are fresh,
awaiting new plantings, the roots to
take hold, tenacious

under the Summer sun

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