The city council met last night, the vote was nine to two,
The town was lacking culture and they knew just what to do,
‘Cause sculpture rhymes with culture and everybody knows,
The pedestal in city square is where it has to goes.
They put a call, ’twas sent to all, the sculptors--any ages,
They checked the prisons, bars and gutters, then the yellow pages,
But no-one answered, no-one came, the city was aflutter
To think nobody would step up, not even from the gutter.
The city clerk was hard at work but thought she could recall,
A note shoved underneath the door by someone in the hall.
“Be there noon on Sunday. Be at the city square,
Bring your gloves and welders. Show up if you care.”
The city crews were ready, but what before their eyes,
No one had ever seen, no-way, no-how, no-wise.
A pickup truck sat silent, not a soul in sight,
And sitting in the bed was—well--was just delight.
The cargo was a heavy one, a giant sprawling mass,
Erected out of chewing gum, marble, bronze and glass.
Some thought Mona Lisa smiled, some just felt elated,
Some said Jackson Pollock, some thought of “The David.”
The city crews went straight to work and blocked off center lane.
The doohickey was heavy, and they’d have to get a crane.
By four PM they had it up, it seemed like it was sparkling,
They moved that empty pickup truck over to the parking.
The men now stood like young boys; the wrinkles left their flesh.
Their hands were soft and tender; their breath was minty fresh.
Townsfolk heard the rumors, “Come and see this Whoosits.”
Soon the square was packed with kith and kin and nudists.
People gawked for hours, the youthful lost their zits,
Tattoos were removed, by what this thing emits.
Hippies had their visions. Geezers found their swing.
The crowd was rock and rollin’ while social distancing.
The moon stopped in its orbit, hanging overhead,
to expedite the growing crowd, extra light to shed,
Vegetables grew larger, clocks an hour fast.
Cars were running smoother; horns began to blast.
Busses soon were filling up, Amtrak added trains.
People came from miles around on boats and cars and planes.
Maple trees were growing money on their lower branches.
Morning came, two suns came up, what could be the chances?
A coin tossed at the sculpture bounces back as gold.
Sister’s magic wand turns her brother into toad.
Word about this sculpture got back to a troll,
some financial devil who finally made parole.
He made some frantic calls to his Chinese knock-offers.
He told the evil story of how they’d fill their coffers.
They had to hurry to the square to take the measurements.
They’d take the knockoffs on the road, it all made perfect sense.
They raced to be the first, they had to move like rockets,
to knock the sculpture off and then to fill their pockets.
But when they came upon the crowd, it seemed to be withdrawn.
The pedestal stood empty. The pickup truck was gone.
The moon was back to normal, only one sun shone.
The secrets of The Sculpture never would be known.
Write if you see beauty,