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Mutual Forest

Too late to
the party I find
two balloons
in a tree flirting

with escape,
flirting with
falling. Fire has
its dark slash

across the trunk.
It’s “striking,”
we might say,
a shock of

forelock across
a face, or perhaps
move to the next
grove, a good place

for illegal dumping.
I pick up a leaf.
It smells lusty
and loves nothing.

When the rain
hits the crops
we call it
“a good deal.”

“It’s a good deal” 
is what we often say
when we get exactly
what we pay for. 

Posted 11/13/13
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