Edge of the bulldozers shovel
What yelling, picketing, bitching, and hollering Did not stop, history did
Moved the red bud tree, gnarled trunk, further
a few more months into its ancient life
Social distancing stunting minds, blooming others.
Coyotes run down the hollow streets
Right down Euclid, Coming down Carnegie
They have always been here
Your teacher tells you over the phone
Picking at scraps, I'm between rust
Thick with vines now. End of summer feels
In spring you can see the coast of Canada
On Lake Erie, if you squint, if you believe
History cleared the horizon as it whips the flags on the beach. No swimming.
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