She kept them up all year to lure the kids
to leprechauns, Bullwinkle, Spiderman
and GI Joe—old chums missing eyelids
and lips and throats, unlike plump baby dolls
who dozed and woke and drank, politely peed,
but never cried. These citizens, large, small,
have scattered, most to homes where they’ll succeed—
companions, cuddled, unconfined. But some,
less fortunate, ride cramped inside a truck
to padlocked mounds where only seagulls come
to scavenge or to protest their bad luck.
A landlord hiking rent = retirement.
No shamrocks here. A sign scotch-taped: VACANT.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathleen McClung is the author of two poetry collections: The Typists Play Monopoly(2018) and Almost the Rowboat (2013). Winner of the Rita Dove, Shirley McClure, and Maria W. Faust poetry prizes, she teaches at Skyline College and The Writing Salon and serves as associate director of the Soul-Making Keats literary competition and judge for the contest’s sonnet category. She has lived in San Francisco for over twenty years. http://www.kathleenmcclung.com/