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by Shannon Eddy

Frozen faces forage behind large yellow line,
The scene seems less populated than the bon

voyage; at least he is there, link-less,
hidden in line behind the chain-clink,

fence, covered in split extra large black bags.
Parents in bloom shouldn’t see connectors

they are there for the green line con-text-ed,
through experience sharing weights and falls.

Providing cover are the sleeping faceless few
a pace when lamented fists become hands folded,

black connected closed stages draped in stars.
Striped for the proud families in red and blue,


there he is- face framed in commissioned glasses,
his brow in relief above still waxen polished shoes.

Shoulders fall; silence permeates the guarded meet,
relief holds his tongue; all he wants is French fries.

“They’re just not the same in the sand.”

Shannon Eddy graduated from the University of Rhode Island with a BA in English Literature in 2009 and he has worked with the Ocean State Summer Writer’s Conference. His poems can be found online and in print at Chaparral, The Naugatuck River Review and most recently The Rufous Salon. He is a proud family member of military servicemen: his Grandfather was a WW2 Airman, his father a Marine and his brother an Iraq War Veteran of the US Army.

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