Slouched in two plastic lawn chairs
a beer, a cigarette -
The naked sun sags in the afternoon sky, glancing off
untrimmed grass - punctuated with parachute dandelions.
There are two wooden faces, rotting
we used them as soccer goals -
Chalked with spray paint caricatures - left by an impassioned graff artist.
My friend has a name for the glade, he inherited
from his older brother - The Field of Dreams.
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