Lover’s Point Dream House
A cluster of Spanish adobes
march downhill toward
concrete jetty, protected beach,
children’s wading pool, ocean.
One nonconformist cottage flaunts
pink stucco walls, purple porch,
a gold and turquoise front door.
Scarlet bougainvillea climbs
the lavender chimney.
Stained glass transom depicts
a needle beaked, crimson hummingbird
framed by mauve wisteria spill,
wings spread, caught in mid-flight.
Turn-of-the-century, Pacific Grove
Methodist summer camp denizens
would most likely have been offended
by the blatantly psychedelic color scheme.
While they mutter from their graves,
this eye-catching home with its
playful hues and public whimsy
make every passerby smile.
Beyond the white gate arch and picket fence,
eggs fry sunny side up; bacon strips sizzle.
Blueberry pancakes brown on the griddle.
June Cleaver bustles; Ozzie peruses the paper.
She wears low heels, a starched shirt dress,
frilly bibbed apron, hair combed, makeup perfect.
Perky Debbie Reynolds warbles “Good morning”
from a vintage radio station. They live in a time warp,
untouched by troubles of unfortunate strangers.
This is the art of stealth; exhalations of dolphins
rise like ghosts between rocking wave sets.
Reek collects upon damp granite boulders.
Mist cascades down mountain ridge, pools
above dunes, nearby dripping meadow.
Gauze packing insulates colorless morning.
Relentless white rolls ashore, erases cypress,
dispirited harbor seals, low-cruising sea gulls.
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