Sometimes three stacked chairs and a barbeque smell
Daily a mountain, snow covered, majestic, angry, powerful
Dreams of strange fighting
The cats yowl
The bathroom with the open window
Where men can see me piss, I fear
A small and untended garden
There is a club on the car for protection
A sword with a sign: IN CASE THE PEN FAILS
A wallet with perhaps five dollars
Left over cans
One fine ass floor, if I do say so myself. Epic craftsmanship.
And books. Of course, books.
A slab that some fool poured
And never realized the potential of.
This fence, this fence is unbearably crooked
But someone stood over it once and said,
Damn, but this is a fine fence.
Not a cloud in the sky
Unless it rains
The mailman leaves signs that say
DOG 6-15
But my dog is dying.
He doesn’t know that. I forgive him.
The colors are all matching, of course, just in the wrong place.
Papers of lazy children amidst the remnants of my poor lawn care
Such a blue true dream, American style, for the starving.
Black as the people, my cynical love
This place, I call my home.