I walked along Fraser against the wind.
At 32nd there was a “for sale” sign
zip ties around the top and one side to keep it still.
I wondered what would happen first,
the L shaped sign post falling down
or the sign itself flying away.

The memory resurfaced, gasping,
the dull ache of an old cut
hurting only if you think about it for too long.
It was a sunny day,  
though it couldn't have been summertime,
we moved in May.

I bet it was a Tuesday
perhaps a Wednesday.
I remember that everything seemed rather bright,
the leaves on the bushes were jade,
the evergreens hiding tiny flowers.
The walk way,
a twisted tongue,
ran from the porch stairs to the decrepit sidewalk.

It must have been a little bit windy
making the sign sway and dance tauntingly,
because my dad took the “for sale” sign as a personal offense,
the contempt swinging gently from the wooden stake.
It had been up for days, or weeks, or months,
I don't remember anymore.
I don't know if he directed anything ****** or hostile to the inanimate object,
but he attacked it as it hung lazily over the lawn.

I do know that it came down,
bringing up clumps of dirt as it fell.
It stayed down until all our boxes
and toys
and beds
and shelves
were long gone from the rooms
in the spackled  white bungalow
where I learned to ride my bike and dance in the rain.

It could still be seen through the front windows,
it stayed on the dandelion covered grass.
I'm not sure how my dad took it down
but it stayed there and laughed at us.

I don't know why I remembered that,
but it kind of hurt and I had to write about it.