Down two blocks,
Right just where old man Brown's house burned down,
To the barb wire fence,
With the gate that drags,
And creaks on it's rusty hinges.
I'll be at the pond
By the charred smokestack.
I'll wait for you
With yore fishin pole,
And my grip all packed,
Wondrin
Why so many things burn around here.
-jenn
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