Whaddaya Expect?


Their lawn bristled.
A seeming yard sale
was, though no sign
and no transactions,
restocked daily
with baby strollers, rotting sacks
of clothing, tin cans,
cars on blocks,
endless fliers
and neighborhood papers
still rolled in their sleeves.

One day the mounds
began to disappear,
a barren lot arose.
Grass seed was sown,
the lawn grew green
and kempt.

Neighbors called it
the junk house
for another fifty years.


3 thoughts on “Whaddaya Expect?

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