As musicians do,
we each play an instrument.
Life Now Orchestra.
In sweet harmony
may notes and chords rise, reach high.
In tune and in sync.
…
Button, buttonhole.
Cloth, needle. Soup, spoon. Tea, cup.
Made for each other.
…
Hanging, dangling swing,
until pumping legs or wind
make pendulum swing.
…
Up and down, they go,
with support, lest they may fall.
Handrails are ready.
…
All lined up, waiting,
shopping carts ready for work.
Squeaky wheels and all.
…
A rusty toy truck,
the children all grown and gone.
Serves as planter now.
An old brown work boot
lost its mate in the spring floods.
Serves as planter now.
…
Dilapidated,
rusting scraps are put to rest
in urban junkyards.
Obsolete, some say.
Abandoned, left. Left behind.
Leaving memories.
…
Green glows the tree line,
behind power posts and lines,
and rusty red roofs.
…
As aged red Merlot
still transports them to far lands.
The old black clunker.
