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My Neighborhood by John Heacock

My Neighborhood

I live in a neighborhood

where children run barefoot

behind white picket fences

and lawns are dotted with

“Be Kind” signs and

LGBQT sunflowers.

All the Priuses have

funny bumper stickers

and immigrants are assured

“you’re welcome here.”

Sunday mornings mean

Jason Isbell serenades and

mimosas on the back porch,

though the rocking chairs on

the front porch remain empty.

People can tell you the name

of their councilman, mayor,

and congressperson, but

not their mailman

or who lives

four doors

down.

 

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