Welcome to 5036 Trunk 1.
A covered porch, a tattered rug.
A stone cellar built for a short man, our potatoes grew legs.
Perched upon the door, she ate vanilla cake, and scrambled it with ice cream.
Around the house, through the woods, down through the elm.
Our own visions drew within our own plotted realm.
Welcome to the backyard.
A hillside grew strawberries, an art farm beneath it.
A small boy with a tummyache, pestered the colony.
The land he thought he owned, all 36 acres.
His little brother, his older sister, his black lab with a white stripe.
Parents both bitter, for money was their fight.
Welcome to the back-back yard.
An old shed decorated by automobile benches.
A strong breeze from the ocean, flipped back his white-blonde hair.
The village he thought he owned, each step through the tall grass.
A carcass, an electric fence, watch the patties and slide beneath.
Mom called for supper, down the hill I ran, a pocket full of coyote teeth.
Night time meant nightmares, upstairs a hallway bled darkness.
A brother sister side by side, their fear leashed with a harness.
Approached the glistening morning, a window built eastward.
Awoken by the suns rays — thump-thump outside he had heard.
Drawn to the sound an incusitive boy still half asleep.
Cascading off the front deck towards Dad, a collosal leap.
He turned to face me, tears in his eyes.
A for sale sign, a confused mind, 5036 Trunk 1 felt my cries.