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the sleds left out,
the junk pile behind the fence,
the fire pit,
the holes dug by the dog,
the I.E.D.’s (insensitive excrement drops) by said dog.
the trampoline,
Does this mean I can declare a do-over?
When it melts will
clandestine errors be erased?
When comes the spring will
a rolling hill support Julie Andrews
and her guitar?
When the shaving cream is scraped will
Arnold Palmer claim our
greens as his own?
When spring flowers rise
will Martha Stewart
pull out of K-mart?
When the snow angels
fly back to their perches
will I look upon an English
garden which will inspire
poetic trances?
When a foot of snow
shrinks down to a bootie
and beyond will
I sway in hammock
above pristine nuances
of botanical gardens?
The white blanket lays
like a dream
a dream that
I have of my back yard.
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Gerald the Writer 