man
in the neighborhood,
who we
called Mingo,
who had a garden.
sunflowers rose six
feet into the air
in his small yard
bordered by a chain
link fence.
he grew tomatoes
and grapes on a vine.
peppers
and string beans.
lettuce.
he was always old
and we were
always young.
his leathered skin
darkened with age and sun
seemed wise
up against our pale
faces
and blue eyes.
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