Egalitarian Spring

The lilac wall


The immaculate swath

From the rest of us,

The bikers, the walkers, the plebes

On the grubby pavement

At the property boundary.

On the outside.

But the sweet smell

Is not contained.

We smell with delight.

The same succulence as those

On the other side.

On the golf course

In their carts

With their caddies,

Those we can’t see.

We, though, are happy

Where we are.

The wind in our hair

No pretense of privilege

Amidst the amazing revival

Of an egalitarian spring.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s