We're in our '60s.
I remember as a kid
being amused to see
from behind
the old lady next door
(maybe no older than we are now)
bending over to pull weeds,
never dreaming
that such a sight
would ever move me
in this mysterious way.
(There's a weed
that wants to be pulled
slowly, very slowly,
as its roots grip my soil
in ten-thousand-times-ten
tickles.)
Dean
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