Buttercup Street
Bare feet meet a misshapen combination
of gravel and asphalt as eyes
take in a slanted sign
declaring it, “Buttercup Street”.

Buttercup Street sounds pleasant
not an overgrown forest of hybrid pea plant trees,
flooding into the street
whose cradle-like seeds roared with every blast of the wind.

Surely, not a community
of stray animals sequestered in stark
dwellings composed of palisades
that lead back to Buttercup Street.

A gray, ashen face
digs into the terra
imposing dominion
over the hinterland.

The sugary, donut colored fence
shuts the door
on the blatant determinism
of the peculiarly well-maintained garden.

Blackened shoes
exit the depressions
of childhood innocence
into the overgrown.