Patience

army tanks,

resting on one hip,

sink into the tall grass 

by the playground

mothers hunt

for hypodermic needles

among dandelions

the children cry from

car seats, ready for their mothers

to return from minefields 

      meanwhile

the stone boy

never moves from the river’s edge

his pole cast cross river –

waiting to hook a dream

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Originally published in Poetry Quarterly, Prolific Press, Fall Issue 2017

© 2017, Tom Pearson