Deborah Seale Poet Rhyme

From The Corner of the Yard

They look right past the trailer door,
And talk as if I’m never there.
"She doesn't fish," I hear him say,
A heavy truth hangs in the air.
But no one casts a line my way,
Or ask if I would like to ride.
They only ask me to babysit,
And leave my own desires inside.
They feel as if I were a hermit,
I am never asked to see a movie or share a meal.
But I’m just waiting in the shade,
Inside this quiet box of steel.
Tucked tight into the yard’s far edge trying not to fade,
A quiet life behind the screen.
The anchor, holding down the fort,
The forgotten one, who stays unseen,
Always a good sport.

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