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About This Poem
July Blues
The Fourth of July that comes
after the last child
has grown beyond fireworks
is a painful time,
as you pace the driveway
looking at the faint marks left
of last years snakes and rockets,
and watch the neighborhood light up.
You hush the dogs and
watch a little TV, while aware
of the thuds, cracks and explosions
outside,
and hope
for grandchildren.
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