Peterson Park

by Bill Yarrow

The bungalow was unlocked. The screen
door was unhooked. The trout on the
counter was deboned. The deciduous
trees were in a state of virtuous
uncertainty. Fallow thoughts bubbled
into the blistered brick. A stew of
insuperables cooked on the portico by
the balustrade. Tenement emotions befogged
the windows as they encircled the balding
home. The lawn wept in its insolvency.