stale breath
of the garden hose
as it
spewed water
out of the long
green snake
lying across
the grass.
out it poured
in fits and stops,
from
some buried
pipe,
the broken knob
in the brick.
but it was water,
or some form of it,
and as a thirsty kid,
i had little
time to waste,
waiting for it to grow
cold
and fresh, which
never happened.
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