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Three Line Lunch: My Patio, With My Eyes Open

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 316

My Patio, With My Eyes Open

A mop leans against the fence; plastic bag of dog shit on back stoop; washer and dryer
Against wall; strand of decorative lights burned-out coiled on a chair; cardboard boxes.
But the hours spent in air under sun or wrapped in fine dark in long talk with loved ones.