by Dale Goodson
looming
like Mt. Everest
in the backyard
but forget pigment
it could be anything
the guy in the oddly shaped hat
the one who smells of garlic
the skinny one
the fat one
(a woman!)
we grow suspicious
and small
experience
a loss of flexibility
it takes so little to alarm
you can play it that way
but there are rules
and they don’t begin with the toss of coin
ignore that
and everything is fair game
Dale Goodson is a writer from Seattle currently living in New York City.
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