Lament

There is no need to feign interest in my deep
lines, pétillant personality exposed by several
millenniums nor in my particular position,
rebelliously pitched amongst the clover and 
crabgrass, stoically standing guard before 
chain links stretched for no one’s convenience.
You didn’t trek all the way from Heliopolis,
Athens or whatever the place to be is these days
to point your back towards my acrobatic neighbors.
You’re only looking at me now out of obligation,
the tales of this place have grown tails that take
hours to work through, so you find yourself savoring
that moment which you’ve planned and saved for 
over a decade while staring at the triple XL cherry
poncho draped across a loquacious woman from Virginia
or pretending not to be annoyed by your three year
old’s constant need to water the English countryside,
whether or not it needs it. 
Stones included.