Memories Snuck Through My Gate
I did a dodgy job of mending
The backyard gate.
Mellow memories still feel like gaping gallows,
They perch like birds do on the fence
And eat all the seasoned grapes.
I thought reminiscing
About tort predecisions
Was an act that had distanced itself
From my street.
But those aches
Of the past still hang around
My back gate
Like dog s**t on the lawn,
Where's that darn rake?
The grass hasn't been mowed in weeks
And those nosy neighbors pretend
To know me or what type of fertilizer I use
Or what flowers are in bloom
On my porch.
Fake talk.
Maybe it's time I picked up some nails
From the hardware store and
Mend those hinges.
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