How every thought sparks: I was walking down Main Street with my little brother Seth or, something like that, how you looked last night in the shirt cut to show your stomach when you lifted an arm to wave at me, from far away Over the hill from which we watched the strip mall close early for that Catholic holiday, the one when men stand outside a crowded American Legion ceding the lowdown on sit down lawnmowers and what to say when Seth tells you something like, you know, I’d like to join the army too Do you celebrate? Two pigeons coo from their coop atop a townhouse roof, the one with an empty bedroom How it catches: the moonlight in a retail window I followed Seth home and found him making pizza with a neighbor who asked the question right Will you miss me? Will it make you smile if the pigeon lands with a note in a beer bottle and a flag draped over its wingy shoulders which represents the good in one place and the unknown in another and smolders, an answer at the center which holds still, in the summer wind Will you lift that arm to wave at me from very far away?
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In fact, I did mean lowdown
but this must mean something too
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