Delicate deep blue petals spill onto the rain-drenched ground.
Little white clapboard house squeezed between two other little white clapboard houses, like life left to gasp at its final defeat.
Nothing ever blossomed there,
except those deep blue hydrangeas Mama grew beneath the black wrought iron banister next to the front steps leading out.
Railroad track across the dirt road, I thought of it as a potential exit strategy in the event that the inevitable occurred.
In front of our little white clapboard house, that railroad track laid itself out among tangled weeds, and escaped hydrangea petals.
Jenny W. Andrews Copyright 2021
Jenny Grace's Poetry and Creative Writing Techniques 