Florence Avenue Notebook

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July 17, 2018 by The Citron Review

by Timothy Lindner

 

In July, a hundred wiffle balls went missing
into the strange neighbor’s yard, into traffic,

and Mr. Moses’ wind chimes foretold showers
that flushed hopscotch down storm drains.

Gutter squirrels scurried down telephone poles,
Mike’s sister sat on the curb and sold lemonade

to the boys with dirty feet, burnt foreheads, we
told time by the speed of clouds over rooftops.

We swore to God we felt the earth roll beneath our toes
swore we would not grow old and sit talking in kitchens

like our parents. Beyond the block, the sun bullied us.
By school time it had stolen everything red and gold

straight from our pockets and we would soon harden
like the earthworms that dried out between our shadows.

 

Timothy has earned a BA in English Literature from Ramapo College and an MFA in Creative Writing – Poetry from Fairleigh Dickinson. He currently lives in New Jersey. Timothy works as a Content Operations Manager at Wiley, serves as Poetry Editor for Serving House Books and reviews poetry collections for The Literary Review.

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