Stately, green-shuttered, midwestern
In its space of grass. The House;
But beyond this, weeds in the buckling tar.
And a rotten net hangs unimpressive.
Past this is the ruin of real need.
They never needed it and now it's ruined.
Here no doubt servants pumped the bug spray
(Sounding a hissing fanfare for the soiree.
One might say). Now it's a mess; the gold
Fish bowl, stone benches and the little bridge
All strung with gummy vines. But who
Would have missed it: stripes and ginny punch.
The small embarrassments, the chinese bench
And the fish? Why all this new trouble
For such careful melancholy? Who
Needed you then, who notices now?
You stink and are hard to walk through.
No crocuses grow and your bugs are gross.