We have named this figure, Farley, after Farley Mowat the author of The Far-Farers. [We noticed today Farley has gained status in the neighborhood: a bird had perched on his head. Soon we expect there will be bird shit on him which is the true initiation rite a statue must receive to be part of the local environment.]
Today my partner asked if I had noted the irony in the front yard scene. With that prompt, I wrote the following poem.
Facing each other across the street
On one side
A proud Minnesota Viking balloon.
On the other
A modern day Inukshuk of glacial stone.
Both imbued with zeal—
the kind that only comes from religious
commitment, I suppose.
The airy football icon rousing his
true believers to
piss their pants if necessary.
While the stone warrior of ancient lore
wishes someone would notice
his wagging head.