#99 CONCRETE BUNNIES
#99 CONCRETE BUNNIES
(Americana)
By now y'all heard what happened to Roger,
When that kid set fire to the art museum.
Let go as director, couldn't find a new job,
"Friends" on the street pretend not to see him.
But here's a better tale you might not have heard,
About the front yard of 212 North Hickory.
The pride and joy of Roger's neighbor,
Missus Martha Eugenia Moseley.
Truth seekers I've met are pinched and solemn,
But the search for beauty? That's kind of funny.
Cross a whole ocean to see the Mona Lisa,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.
Roger moved in back in January,
Snow was piled high, a sharp Nor'easter blew.
At his front door next day, purple snowsuit, hand out,
"My full name's a mouthful -- Call me Martha U."
Friendly smiles, nods and waves, first months as neighbors.
But when March melt revealed the grass and the dirt,
Our fine arts director saw to his great dismay,
A slate-grey throng of statues that made his eyes hurt.
Truth seekers I've met are fierce and solemn,
But the search for beauty? A bit more funny.
Drive twelve hours to see Vincent's Starry Night,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.
June morning, Roger opens his door, eyes dead tired,
Martha's there, purple sundress: "Sorry you got fired."
Hands him homemade cranberry crumble, pint of ice cream,
Points at the bunny she's placed in his yard and just beams.
Explains she'd already sealed it to protect it.
He swallows, says "Thank you Martha. It's... ... perfect."
Truth seekers I've met, I get why they're solemn,
But the search for beauty? That's just funny.
Fly to Florence, join the crowd staring at a statue,
Or just fill your front yard with concrete bunnies.