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Panhandle, 6:40

In by Chris on August 18, 2010 at 1:31 pm

Close below afternoons,
our planet’s movements throb.
A black man with sunglasses
has carried his conga to a bench
where he can see down
the length of the Panhandle.
As the afternoon slants itself down,
he feelingly begins to play.
His hands try to express
the easy life of the afternoon —
the bike tires and dogs peeing on trees.
The scattered rhythm that emerges
takes in the beating of each part of the park,
and they all roll out into the sunlight
as his hands become a joyful blur,
as the evening comes
blowing in gray wisps from the ocean.


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