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Every so often
The vain little boy
Who wants to look cool
Pops back out to pose.

You can understand
Why people feel trapped
When what’s gone around
Comes back around.

There’s a strong silence
Settles in suburbs
At just the right hours,
When a backyard porch

Surrounded by blocks
Of walled beige houses
Holds stiller than woods,
Nothing but angles.

The vain little boy
Has gone back inside
As an old man pleased
And almost silent.