A corner lot. An empty
television shell.
A soaked mattress
that moves around the property
getting darker, more filthy,
yet stubbornly holding itself
intact. Bottles and cans,
trash bags like good intentions
left behind half filled, fast
food wrappers;
birds nonetheless,
leaves nonetheless, flowers
nonetheless, the dark green shade
in the center nonetheless
inviting anyone to walk in and stand
under the stressed trees,
a seldom accepted invitation
that nonetheless
makes a difference
to this city by being
extended in spite of
so much insult.
