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    Farmers market, on Saturday mornings

    Hipsters in jean jackets and nose rings flock to the food co-op

    And my third-grade teacher sells donuts from a food truck

    The icing is sticky on the pads of my fingers

 

    Downtown liquor stores and apartments

    Give way to churches and cornfields

    I know the way home by heart

 

    We would meet on playgrounds

    Little kids in fleece jackets

    Convinced we were something magical

    And now those little kids are teenagers

    Separated by thousands of miles

 

    It's the little details that I miss

    The bowling alley where octogenarians eat lunch

    The shopping mall carousel, the old museum

    Saturday mornings at the farmers market, the bustle of people

 

Author's note: So this is really unedited but the whole city poem tag and @thepensword's urban hive poem made me want to write something about my hometown. I don't live there anymore, but just thinking about it makes me really nostalgic for all the little things that I never realized I loved about it.

Edited by definitelynotanalien
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