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The suburban dream is a crescent moon, an empty street, and a wood-burning fireplace
Boy running across the street and into a backyard
Like some kind of horror movie golem
Men taking out the trash with flashlights
A car pulling up into the driveway
And idling there, not getting out
Until the solitary night-walker shambles past
Bare trees and a crescent moon
The lonesome train whistle in the distance
Cars streaming down the highway
And all the Christmas decorations still up even though New Year approaching
Multicolored lights draped across rooflines
The smell of chimney smoke
Inflatable santas lit up, casting ominous shadows on the brick ranch-style houses
Two books in my hand
Cigarettes in my pocket
Long after midnight
Another good night alone loving up to G-O-D
And his freshly-trimmed grass
And this hometown


Aaron Lake Smith

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