Poetry of Issue #7        Page 50

Silently Hidden

Recreational vehicles were right
up there above my home and
everyone else's in the mobile home
park I'd so seldom seen or even
thought of unless it was to use my
husband's blue truck. One day I'd
seen them much closer, so silently
hidden away from everything,
penned in a mesh wire fence as
if they'd slipped inside without
me seeing in the night. In daylight
hours no one ever noticed them
but in the hottest month when
the wildfires hit, smoke rising its
highest in the sky, senior citizens
who lived about drove to the coast,
but not one of them owned an RV;
only the very few who could afford
them were too old to use them.
One RV looked so neglected it
needed fixing. I crept inside
the fence, always unlocked,
examined the RV I had my eyes
on. It must've been five years
since it hadn't been touched. With
the park manager's permission
I had a project in store for
myself: renovate the big thing
from inside out and it will be
all mine for the rest of my life.

  Bobbi Sinha-Morey