Realty school found me

the middle of nowhere,

an island institute shifted


about the tax base.

Deduction-happy and audit-free,

no wear on watch or budget


was too plank-like.

Upscale of catch and bail,

delegates milled around


my tropics, then up

scaled a mudskipper

from the out-there.


Now every single creak

sends me netting!

My turnstile was like a multi-story project,


its sidelong creek a development

of deer, high-headed and economical.

Foreclosure had a tough time here;


regulations never on sabbatical,

public education a quickiemart

for closers bound to buy


the farm before they pay, a fire

placed beneath their in & out baskets.

Do lobster tails switch


near a family-sized pot?

What caught me was a shark

with a pop-up suitcase.


Folks, conduct your interviews here.

I was self-assured;

they staged a downhill war;


there was a suit.  Case closed

and pointless given the barge ride

through the settlement of horse sense.


The courts were holding strong

when I commuted—to settle

meant to keep a fishing rod intact.


This has been a terrible reconstruction.

I might never come back.  How I enjoy

to tear a bill and send it sailing.




Photo Source: Mobile Foreclosures