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The House on Patriot Street

A faded glory type of memory,

funny.

How secure it all once felt,

how secure I wish it did still.

Freedom. Human Rights.

We kill, still. 

The backyard gate is broken, 

the weeds outnumber the blades.

I used to walk by here when

my concerns weren’t bills but grades. 

How glory fades

on Patriot Street