The balls they drop, they scatter, or are they squared
for girls tangling in social parties, still scheming under the guise of gangsters playing within the rules, of bikes tangled about the dirt, barely transgressed with Spring, a nightmare for freezing, for refrigerated lives of weeks past, they barely register to dangling legs stuck to pedals, quickly skirmishing the lane, a healthy dose of aerobic wheels. They'll be twins by the time it's really spring, taking turns with sisters, house guests of play time, swinging from house to house, panicking with current dance, ballet and tap are lively art houses, there and swinging tennis across the ages, as they eat hourly their fancy hearts, dressed to make the next one as real as the culdesac that melds into the grocery store, with plenty of candy for the next game. © 2015 Larry Ingram
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Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
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