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Independence Day
I thought at the time, and have again
since, that I might write a poem each
July 4, in honor of the holiday which
marks the end of us as a couple.
It is always good to watch a small town
parade when mourning the passing of
love. The irony is easy enough, but
I unabashedly love the procession
of tiring young gymnasts, real estate
agents, and half-drunk Kiwanis. Lines
don't always come as they should on
these appointed days of observance. I
get tired, or happy, or remember to toss
a football around with anyone willing.
—Todd Young
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