while the olive trees in rows beyond the cyclone fence
nod in noontime rest, like the old couple settled
at the picnic table and the boy paused in walking
his small white dog, and the dog?s uplifted leg,
and the girls in shorts lazy as a year of summer in this
August heat, and the beige lady with a cane, stopped
to puzzle out a bird pecking insects in the grass,
and the eucalyptus going nowhere from its shade,
and the cars as if asleep on their wheels for just
this rest-stop snapshot of a poem.
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