You need no other name for us than that.
The good folk of Old Taylor Road
know who you mean. We are
the renters, hoarders of bloated boxes,
foam peanuts. When the Welcome Wagon
of local dogs visits our garbage,
we're not sure which houses to yell at. So
what if we leave the cans there a bit too long.
We have white walls, a beige futon, orange
U-Haul on retainer, checks with low numbers.
Scheming to get our security deposit back, nail holes
are spackled with toothpaste. Ooops, our modifiers
dangle. Our uncoiled hoses dangle, but the weeds
in our gutters do not, they grow tall,
they are Renters' Weeds, they are unafraid.
An old black one-speed leans against the carport.
So what. Maybe we were thinking about riding
past these houses with posters for Republican governors.
We have posters too: Garage Sale. 'Can I hel—'
'No, just looking.' We are just looked at, we renters.
Are we coming soon to your neighborhood?
We're the ones without green thumbs,
with too many references, the ones
whose invitation to the block party
must have gotten lost in the mail. If we're still here
come winter, tell the postman not to bother
searching our nameless mailbox for his Christmas check.
Hard realities of life elaborated in a touching way. Thanks for sharing.
So many problems get cluttered in urban lives and it becomes difficult to wriggle out of it. Thanks for sharing, Beth Ann. I quote: tell the postman not to bother searching our nameless mailbox for his Christmas check.
Local dogs visits our garbage! ! Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Utterly fresh and refreshing and clever piece of writing! ! ! ! Enjoyed the heck out of its reality and humor and sauciness! ! !