Six Paces

He sat at the opposite end of the bench Sighing into his wonderbread faire Some crumbs and mustard affixing The corners of his mouth turned up slightly What? It's nothing, your tag is out of place I smile Knowing the banana sticker on my forehead Is a welcome distraction From the space between us

Turf-war

The sputtering lawnmower Dusting the air with fresh greenery The drone of the engine Marching forward, consuming blades Stuffing the bag Sweating Covered in nature Proud of a job done well

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