The roof of the house across the road
is sway backed like a mare abused by stallions
and ridden too long by hamburger eating cowboys.
The house has got blinkered windows
and can’t see its own humiliation,
green flecked base and sun ravaged walls.

Its only friend
is an orange tree
that leans against its sidewall,
the tree has never been pruned
as its misfortune is to bear bitter fruit,
but in spring it lends a sad accord
of what could have been
and still is.
Sweet neglect is nature’s true beauty.