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Adriana Grant

2 Poems

Route 2


A corner greased with the scent of fried chicken.  In certain counties rocks are painted white, decorating driveways like they’re something special.  Scatter of startled squirrels.  Dark water, oily as a mirror.  His eyes slide by, like fish.


Summer Decidedly Scrunched

I’m definitely going to go to as many ballgames and amusement parks as I can.  Tim Boyle made up for lost time last week on his boat, Happy, in Mamaroneck, N.Y.  No one has ridden a bike.  Ms Hurwitz said she developed a higher tolerance for precipitation this spring.  No monsoon?  No problem.  We played tennis in the drizzle.  Her garden was another matter.

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