Some neighbors paid to have their home improved
And a sign sprang up in the yard near the curb
The image of a window with sparkling eyes
And a smile that spanned a couple of panes
An arm raised in friendly greeting
Up the road jocular Royal Flush
Displays its mascot a toilet
Also smiling expansively
Who wears gloves and ballcap
Who wields a plunger and drives a backhoe
And then there’s Bib the Man of Tires
What was his childhood like
Who were his parents
Sprung fully armed
From the brow of that corporate committee
Charged with putting faces to brands
Visages begotten not made
Mulciber Moloch or Beelzebub
Who gain identity only upon their fall
Or oppositely Rumplestiltskin supernatural foe
Who disappointed stamps himself to nothing
At least HAL 9000 learned to sing at school
And my walk takes me past another neighbor
Garbed like me with sunglasses and ballcap
Presumably like me seeking
The salutary payoff of a morning constitutional
Returns not my salutation