It’s waiting

      in a lush repose

       waiting

              &

              waited on

curated

             manicured

                       fawned over

           it’s waiting

                 and we all know it

           cousins just like it

                          lie in disrepair

                                               not far from here

                     they wait too

                                    but in sloppy neglect

                                     & scornful looks

But here            that smell of

                                    fresh-cut grass

                           wafts over from its

                                    fenced boundaries

                        in April and May

We can see

                the care

                           the love

        the waiting

                             the waiting

      It’s waiting

where other empty lots are

                      browned out

                                      non-arable plots

                      of whiskey bottles

                                  and trap-house paths

this one

         waits

      protected

                      pristine

                                   primed

genuflecting to its

                            gentrifiers

       sitting pretty like a kept woman

                  and waiting