Easter Monday

Every sound echoes, 
seconded 
by dry stone 
in reply.
Voices crack 
like shoes saved for best,
second skin blistering beneath first;
kissing warm tarmac
lips pursed
with every step.
  
Dogs 
chase their own tails.
Coffee pours and drinks itself. 
Pretzels, stale as the day
are thrown like rocks down throats
and
boats pass under the bridge
like cotton through the eye
of a needle.
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