Green House Road
Day by day, passing that sign
piqued my interest. Curiosity
grew stronger . . . had to check it out.
I drove down Green House Road.
The gravel spread on asphalt dinged
a symphony underneath.
I drove slowly, looking . . .
searching for the green house.
I saw pines, cedars, elm trees
and firewood, ricked and tarped
beside a vacant lot.
Old cars were hidden behind
an eight foot picket fence.
Lettered signs read:
Private - KEEP OUT
DEAD END - No Outlet
I did not drive down the side road,
marked by 15 mailboxes.
Swing sets and metal awnings
adorned white houses.
But no green house.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment