her iron shadow on my neighbor's lawn;
they've added a sign just to be sure
you know you're at the beach.
It's kitschy here, a little wild --
with dune grass and beach roses,
California poppies and candy tuft,
driftwood and lawn chairs --
the only manicured gardens
belong to mostly empty houses,
attended by strange gardeners
at carefully timed intervals --
you know those houses:
the ones that wait like fenced puppies
growling at passers by;
tidy, but abandoned and unloved.
* * *
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