This marred ground
Evinces a
Sweet smell
Of manufactured
Forests dripping
With the hard work
It took to grow.

A concrete creek
Dopily streaming
Down the length of the acre
Has sand and gravel
Trailing down its center
Where runoff carried it
As far as it could.

Stopping short
Just before the opening
Of a massive storm drain
Dried with vandals’ paint
And slick at the bottom
Where the creek stream
Meets a drainage tunnel.

At the end is only a gate
Locked and thick
Meant to keep out
Anyone with the
Improper mind
To approach the drain
From wrong side.

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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