foreclosure.

who pens in cursive anymore -
it seems to denote a white box,
a pigeon-hole branding a square
suspect at best.
a fan, probably, of american gothic -
imagine ma & pa kettle, 
black burnout hanging above a peg-legged table,
countryside kitsch, a flea market
sideshow dressed in red gingham
Sunday’s backdrop to lard soaked
white flour & egg encrusted chicken
greasy stacks on thin napkins; mason
jars sweating under a humid horizon.
beaten porch door opens, yesterday
blinks in kodachrome spectrum of
orange cast silhouettes devoid of grey.
pinwheels whirl, pink plastic wings
direct our gaze to a garden gate,
fido fighting shadow squirrels.
americana,
she crisscrossed the last gravel
grid chasing a cement truck’s
churning belly; bright visage of
spring pales under layers of progress;
tea cups grow moldy skins after
left half touched;
the visitor crashing the idyllic
party with a quest for cursive
on a yellow notice;
a sign of how the west is being won,
off the range.

Posted by angela on 2012/02/29

http://yellowhousecafe.wordpress.com/2012/02/29/foreclosure/