don't we all have a song about a porch swing?
bare feet sliding against the grain of a dirty floor
occasionally, the rusty chains clink, like rust does
and mid-day cars just go and go, oblivious to the lemonade summer.
fuck those cars for not knowing,
for not slamming their brakes
and standing on top of their Buicks
and screaming praise, loudly,
like idiots.
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