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There it is, a fire –

down the street a few blocks

orangey-black

smudging the

emerald grass

of the cul-de-sac.

A burning pile of

books and boxes and bikes

of particularly suburban vintage,

curled plastic bubbling, 

wispy charred 

page-chaff

rising heavenward.

Instinct says to

preserve

this property,

protect

those things,

pretend

it doesn’t matter.

Freedom says

that soccer balls

and zero-turn mowers

burn bright.

They always have.

 

 

 

By Melissa Kro. 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/instinct/”>Instinct</a&gt;

 

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