Dark clouds above tell me so.
But my landlord is going on, about
The bright yellow and orange-
chalk scribbled ground.
She wants me-
to clean it up.
I say-
Look at this deep,
red scratch on my son's arm.
You should have heard how he howled-
From one of your cracks, broken,
right there on your ground.
I will not use your dirty plastic jug
to pour water on the concrete.
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