Purple stops just before it rolls into a house,
summer days in winter.
She caught fire just that side of the gate then fluttered,
more people than last year.
‘These trees, they don’t belong here,’
she sang, knocking red into a windmill.
‘They don’t know what’s going on.’
It’s just a couple of bucks,
you’d revamp the whole thing.
Just gotta fix the holes.
The guy’s look in the arcade,
blonde hair, reflecting shades, from another decade.
When was that guy from?
This place is full of characters.
Red rolled up just before it got caught in a tube.
Multipurpose putters.
He launched shots just this side of anticipation,
the first time since last year.
this is your life chuck johnson 