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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Trailer Park Spring

Spring is in the air
Sun is on the soil at last
The white trash pokes their heads up with a gasp
Buried in the dirt all winter
The wide open is something startling and clean
Their lungs used to the intake and exhalation
Of leaking at the seams and duct stack wood stoves
And the warpage of smoke from many things
To drive away the winter blues and bleak Sol starlight
With homemade meth from mother's handwritten cookbook recipe

Temperatures above freezing at last are a shock to the system
And some of the folks on disability forget themselves to do cartwheels of joy
Before remembering that they are in public
Then resuming the heavy limping gait that insures their paycheck
Making their way back to the sagging pine 2x4 porch tacked onto the single wide
To repose upon re-purposed milk crates and pallet wood
Watching the children run around with the sniffles and no coats
Searching for baby animals to be cruel to

Laughing
Because that's just how they were when they were small too