A bygone Summer curtilage--
Chairs pushed back from the oval
Table, the sole trace of festivity, a
Trifle of confetti--harvest leaves
Trickle towards their soft landing
Among the downfallen: the layered
Debris, a mess amassed.
The wrought-iron furniture is hospitable
to the weathering elements.
A picnic umbrella, withdrawn, stands
Off-center, vividly gaudy and useless;
The decorative canopy contrasts with
The naturally demure color scheme:
Bayadere--light and dark blue stripes,
Complimented by a variegation of red.
Such an impudence is out of place, if
Not out of season!
This faux pas is not as monstrous as
The perennial clump tangled in the
Chain-link fence; the feral verdigris
Has yet to succumb to the inclement
Temperament; enriched by the soil,
The bushy weed continues to grow
Vigorously, almost reaching the
Chaise lounge recliners, doubled-over,
The backrests, folded in the fetal position,
Signal the nascence of hibernation.
Stored in the shed, lawn tools, which
Have yet to earn their keep, await the
Yard sale next Spring.