The Red Wine Apostates

We don’t get around much anymore.
The Northland signs tell us
who’s had a bad shopping experience –
even after the lot around the corner’s
been mown and lot sale signs placed,
no one’s had the audacity
to remove the
Beware Gladrents
in its crooked, angry, thick red scrawl –
and those unopened eateries
beckon our delight
to finally yelp
our indignation
once our fine, elephant minds
pull our husbands out of the car lots
and grocery store lunchrooms
in time to change their Dockers and loafers
for shorts and sneakers.

We have it soft here
(even if our arms are sun-mottled).

The city looks so dangerous anymore.

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