Poetry by Patsy Breeden ∇ Art by James Devlin
There is a beautiful oak tree right outside the entrance of the school.
I thought how lovely it would look festooned with the high school
seniors jockey shorts, seasoned with fresh skid marks; and their
pictures with their names on them clothes pinned to the branches
of the tree.
I stood back and looked and smiled.
That old oak tree never looked better.