Hour 11 Crepe Myrtle Guards

Crepe myrtle trees with shocks of hot pink like my fingernails

stand like the Queen’s watch guards

straight as can be,

side by side with the old gate between them

I put my foot between the bottom crook

my hands sliding down, the bark

isn’t rough, it’s as smooth as lotioned hands

I caress the bark, feeling its strength

and peer beyond the falling gate

at nothing really special,

just a place beyond the gate.

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