The faded wooden sign,
Marked like a bulls-eye with holes
But not from arrows
…From careful archers
But from staples and nails long ago removed.
The signs current purpose was one of dispute,
& one of respite
Advertisments for lost dogs and
Birthday parties hung proudly in contrast here,
Praises sung loudly here;
Some current, and some more fabled then others.
What is left of the sign now a memorial of rusty staples and creeping moss,
(Also in contrast with one another)
As well as the peeling paint, that falls much slower than the changing leaves.
This decrepit state,
Brought on by insurmountable tidal waves of humidity.
The occasional hammer strike,
Or tremor from a summertime cannonball.
The fragile wooden legs on which it stands,
Occasionally will shake,
Because of these factors,
Because the sign has no taproot,
Any sense of stability left long ago,
(Sustainability never having existed)
Driven away by
Gusts of wind that howl like wolves;
Gusts of wind that also feast like wolves;
And still, the mostly vacant sign will remain.
Although the occasional termite will of course still take up residence here,
Never offering as much as a cent,
Still somehow being rewarded with shelter.
Whats left of the structure;
Still warm, still breathing.
Here under a few live oaks.
This sign whose only aspirations were to be a billboard someday
Complete with the fluttering letters at lunchtime
A ladder that no one ever climbed.
It is instead a forgotten landmark,
A crumbling sandcastle in the face of approaching tides
A farm that at one time yielded an abundance of crops,
Busy with the sounds of plows and the
Smells of leather.
Now arid and buzzing with hungry crows.
Who can only build nests of rock.
Not quite a graveyard…
Not quite a graveyard…
In a grassy median,
Dreaming of life at sea on the Mediterranean,
Has become a visible retirement,
Instead of going out gracefully like a melting candle,
Dancing until there was nothing left but wispy smoke,
Dancing until there was nothing left to dance.
Subsequently leaving behind smell that can never be exploited.
The sign is but a movie trapped within a reel,
A task once held dear,
Ever since ever was clear.
The ant piles had been swept away,
And the last coat of lacquer had been applied,
Since infancy even,
The sign had great dreams,
Of heaven and earth and everything in between.
Including but not limited to;
Gleaming advertisements showcasing Amish furniture
Followed by a gradual descent into a place for sign up sheets for little league
Meeting times for
Various committees who intend to pass bills of certain bipartisan legislation;
Covered up by construction paper signs detailing pot-luck luncheons,
Business cards that advertise
Companies that specialize in digging artesian wells.