Today’s weather: fair, with blue skies.
A bit of an anomaly but I really don’t mind. My body cries out for fresh air,
for sunshine . . . critical elements that pop pussy willows, cherry blossoms and tulips
from warmed soil lining each fence;
tamed nature marking boundaries
conscientious neighbors stay behind.
These same private neighbors
hold a peculiar devotion
to social justice,
the rights of the homeless
but no responsibility
for finding workable solutions that
build dignity and respect.
Over the years, this contest of wills between advocate and business
has soured like milk
left too long on the counter; has chased away options like bushy-tailed squirrels
relentlessly clinging to bird feeders swinging —
while birds perch high above
waiting for a moment of inattention,
when they swoop in and dive
for a peck and a nibble of vanishing seed.
A sad little story of a tight-knit community
focused on excavating
beneath pink petals, where
behind every door, under every rock hides
the political gamer; in this town
a casual walker will easily find
the smell of urine, the taste of despair
and remnants of lives once filled with dreams,
all piled up in nooks where the homeless lay their heads.
Prompt from day 16 of NaPoWriMo 2016.