Front Porches, DC

Striped awnings

you crank back

with something that

looks like a

corkscrew

in the pitch black,

frogs and cicadas,

crickets, the low

whine of bats. Roses

drip. Floorboards,

the paint peels

on creak as

aunts and uncles

slap down cards.

Citronella. Ice

tea clinks in

a tall glass.

Calico cat in a

hammock. Drone

of cars. Wicker

unravels so

slowly you

can't hear

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