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house sign

the number 9 in the house number
lost a nail
now dangles at an angle, drips rust
onto the yellow vinyl siding
snow piles into the laps
of wicker porch chairs
green plastic wreath,
with its shiny red ribbon,
flaps in the end of January breeze
is the label you’d place
on a photo of this place
Overwhelmed already so don’t
ask, don’t even knock
with that smile on your face

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