She left me standing on the corner.
Between an old fence,
more for holding people out than in.
Dusty gravel lumped in piles on the side of the road.
Most likely crafted by a child,
with proof of messy hands to be washed.
The child had long since disappeared
with only artifacts of dust mountains
leaving any trace.
I spied a place on the fence for me.
Should I sit on the road
and let these clean
hands darken with dirt?
Or sit on the splintering fence
in the shadows?
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