By RAHN ADAMS
It’s been hiding up there for years, / folded over and dusty, / atop the tall bookcase / next to the front windows.
I’ve been wondering for a while / what it was or what it is — / like Schrodinger’s pastel pussycat / boxed up for posterity.
I didn’t bother to ask the artist; / it has been a decade (or two) / since she put pencil to paper / and sketched the iconic scene.
Time flies, as wise Ben Franklin said, / foregoing the bit about fun; / another saying he coined / was to mind your business.
What the artwork was meant to be / is neither here nor there; / what it is and will become / is all that really matters.