who's to say there's no beauty in sagging mossy roofs on moldy double wides?

old chevy's in the front yard with the wires eaten out by the rats that steal the cherries off of your forgotten childhood tree

we wonder aloud whether we should be more afraid of the squatters or the red necks toting shotguns at the end of the road, followed immediately by musings of this being the perfect place to have babies

I can see me chasing chickens and you building a shop, and our kids rolling their eyes so often they get stuck in the back of their skulls

I wish this moss filled yard would spell it out with stones from the walls that surround it, no more pondering, just a universal understanding that we’ve driven down the right road

Instead, for now, I’ll just count myself lucky for having a partner that isn’t afraid to keep driving