'Twas April, and the faulty stoves
Were piled beside the sagging gate;
All fish-flied were the poplar groves,
With plumbing opened late.

"Beware the Trailerpark, my son!
The johns that flush! porch swings that glide!
Beware E. coli counts, and shun
Approvious Malahide !"

At 'condo, sort-of' heads they shook:
Long floating loan-forms he prepares -
So co-signed he, with the Private Three
At the Bank of M upstairs.

And as the roadway bills he paid
Erie-storms the clay did shift.
The drained Cement-and-Gravel Way
Lay rubbled ' neath the cliff.

Back tax! back tax! the Feds they forced
The neighbour's plans deflated twice !
He played his hand, and copped the land
At a freshly garnished price.

And hast thou bought the Marshy-Flats ?
Come to the Tuck-Shop brunch !", they voice.
"Mosquito breeds, O Noxious Weeds !
But we have no other choice."

'Twas August, and the slant-cut poles
Were tied and turgid by the gate:
All pansied were the Old-road's holes,
And the levy-cheques post-date.

By autumn, at the condo's shore
Did tires the tree-drift beach retread;
All frogsy was OUR pond, and for
The moment books out-red.

And this is why few snowbird here,
Valve-closed or winter-watering,
'Though sludge is filtered from the lake,
And no bugs sting.