ANNE'S DREAM


by JOHN BYRON YARBROUGH
Texas, U.S.A.

Papa sees his last patient,
lifts me onto his shoulders,
carries me to the park.
I beg him push me higher.
A couple walks by whispering.
Ice cream melts sweet in the July sun.
I awaken to the sound of Gestapo tires
bumping to a stop against the curb.

 

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[NOTE: Tower Poetry 54#1 is out of print]