Does the Little Tykes Cozy Coupe
against the gray house long to
hop the gray fence, go driving
down the gray street?
Do the flowerpots know what
they’re waiting for? Have
last year’s dead leaves
tried to give them hints?
Does the bathtub on the
back staircase wonder what
it did to get tossed out of
the breakfastless B&B?
If the whirligig of the fisherman
in yellow slicker and red boat
on blue water is completely
still, does it need a new name?
Do I need a new name, too?
Should I change it with every
season? Or is it better to keep
some small things the same?
For NaPoWriMo, Day 6. The prompt was to look out the window and write down some nouns, colors, and verbs.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
seriously? a bathtub on the back step is like my loitering loo on my side yard. the answer to that question is, “remodel.” i can definitely relate to this quaint, colorful poem.
Thanks! The B&B behind us, which is really just a B (its website specifies that they’re not cooking for you) has had that bathtub on the back steps all winter and now into spring.