Consider the Hydrant

Late Winter Poetic Longing 


Dried, blood-colored rust marring silver paint

Iron is present, and oxygen.

The coldest winter in memory

Never-ending.

The hydrant

Dousing fire, or cooling summer’s swelter.

Someone made this, conceived, designed, forged

Solution to a perpetual scourge.

What else is needed? Is boredom the true nemesis? No.

Look, and think. Beyond apps.

Consider the hydrant.

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