Not quite the idea I started with, but like many ideas, it took its own road.

Pink Flamingos


There’s always tawdry trash on another person’s lawn.
Detritus of someone else’s lack of taste.
A rusted out hulk of scrap metal
Sitting up on cinderblocks.
Some plastic flowers drooped wan
By years of unrelenting blaze.
An old fridge melting into an Astroturf carpet
With a cat stained sofa companion.
And a pink flamingo guardian.

So easy to deride, so much harder to dismiss.

What stories lie behind that scene?
What Grandpappy taught that kid
To drive in that old jalopy that will be repaired someday?
What neighbor gave those flowers
To the new bride to brighten up the home?
What meals came out of that fridge?
How many neighbors stopped by the porch to sit on that sofa
And how many kids petted the cats?
Was that flamingo a longing for brighter places
Or a wonder of standing in place?

So easy to say ‘eyesore’
So hard to understand what I saw.