The cul-de-sac is cold now,
spry children play no more
& those bright marks of chalk
from softball
have long faded into lore,

the parents have all moved away
their sons & daughters grown,
the driveways need resurfacing
the seedy lawns need mown,

behind an iron window guard,
desperate eyes peek out,
I hear a woman’s frenzied call,
I hear a man’s stern shout,

Then suddenly, the man appears,
fist up, approaching fast,
I roll the window up, shift gears
& leave dark skid marks
on the past.

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