The carrier flock of mud hens,
Gamboling in down tide flats,
Start and fly according to wind
And sirens. The avenues of
Platitude grope against the marvel
of weather. So much hinges
on a landlord’s sense of humor.
Sweaters in the shop front windows
Splay welcomes on Main Street,
Beckoning surrender.
Next door,
A swinging ball crumbles tradition
In seconds, sadly, and with gusto.