S. of Vernon, Indiana, State Hwy. 7
A small, square, wooden table had been set
on newly shooting dandelions and blue grass.
The wind picked up a lacy corner of the tea cloth,
A small lamp atop.
One cup and saucer.
No chairs for invitees.
Surrounding it, rusted trailers were parked
like chess men,
boxing the table in check.
Across the state highway,
a house with moldy green shingles
karate chopped once
in the spine of its roofline.
Teatime was over.
We motored past
with blinders of quiet solitude.
—Marilyn Windau, Sheboygan Falls, WI