MAPLE CITY

Serene Lady
in draped blue mantle,
stares with blind eyes
from an upturned tub
at plastic ducks
frozen in gaurdian march
over dead brown grass.
Old folks shuffle out,
late for early mass,
dressed in polyester
accessorized in white.
Wearily that climb aboard
their rusty pickup truck
and drive away
with upright brooms waving,
laughing gaily
in the grey dawn light.

Maple City

This poem was written from a flash memory that stuck after driving by this scene on the way to work on an early spring morning.

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