The Wall Between Two Gardens


it is always the troubling things that make me sad
the things that are out of kilter
speed bumps in my expectations
like a dog that does not want his dinner
or a hobo with an unstrung harp
a child that cannot play with toys
a snowman weeping for his shadow
these things that I do not expect
are the ones that used to get me charged
but I was a big band in those days
now I am a zydeco trio
in the slough of despond
now I’ll never sell
a fat, yellow chicken

—Don Whittington



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