Egalitarian Spring

The lilac wall

Divides

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.

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