Lonely little alcove with the tired, brown carpet
At the edge of town where the train whistle is loud
Hodge-podge neighbors, poor, but rich in spirit with a splattering of mobile transients
The bottom drawer of the oven is ajar, off track, the refrigerator is loud, the plumbing is…
An empty field with sometime raccoons, the penthouse view
One big window, flimsy at best, held strong against a strong, north wind in bad storm, late at night
Patio, three feet wide, secluded by morning glory, purple majesty
The old man next door is a shut-in, his cough echoes
Ready to leave, leave I must
This place has held me awhile, kept warm in winter’s rage, kept cool in summer’s expanse
I have no claim on it, yet it is sad to say goodbye
to the part of me that will stay bent and whispering to purple flowers on the vine.