A Milk Jug Birdhouse
My mind rejects
what my eyes can see. A girl—
using a phone book for a booster seat—
sits at a table in the yard, beside
an abandoned clothes dryer. She’s
carving a birdhouse from an empty milk carton.
A suit of armor and a plastic pineapple
are under a longleaf pine, where drops of rosin
glue sword to fruit. The fields nearby lie fallow,
and in the distance, as far as I can see. There’s
a station that used to sell gas, where two roads
make a T. The road that terminates is
full of potholes. Someone painted one pothole
the same blue as the unclouded sky here.
And on the roof of a rust-red barn—
just past the fallen pile of broken yellow bricks,
the world’s largest CB antenna, (homemade),
and next to the smashed brown dog-igloo—
Jesus Saves / S & H Green Stamps
is faded but legible.
first published in Adagio Verse Quarterly
Helen Losse is the author of Better With Friends (Rank Stranger Press, 2009) and two chapbooks, Gathering the Broken Pieces and Paper Snowflakes and the Poetry Editor of The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her recent poetry publications and acceptances include Iodine Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Heavy Bear, Hobble Creek Review, The Wild Goose Review, and Blue Fifth Review. Educated at Missouri Southern State and Wake Forest Universities, she lives in Winston-Salem, NC.