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Grass Stained Asses of Middle Classes
Father’s Day has come and gone,
There was a card and a gift,
Mother’s Day is never done,
An only child works in shifts.
Paint by numbers, whitewashed souls,
The abstract always less not more,
Blacktop shoes worn down to soles,
Art will ignore work obscure( for sure).
No point to shine such whitewashed light,
I know the truth, past loon, past goon,
A blue hue gates from a black light,
We see only night this side of the moon.
Blades of grass grow green as Grace,
Sun and dirt and kids at play,
Time and place get lost in space,
Mud and rain wash away the day.
Copyright ©
Joe Fisher
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