america

perhaps one day
on my doorstep
i would have picked up a baby
in his swaddling clothes
and held it tight in my arms
as i walked across
a minefield

brown leaves in the swimming pool
a surface to glide on
up to the springboard ready
for the explosion of a thousand sponge slippers
blown clean beyond the trees

a suburban house is the prize
with backyard and neighbors in white
pants sitting politely at their table

it’s not enough
to return home
to double-lock
the door
to look at the dusk
every night

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