Plastic.
It really is amazing stuff.
I’ve been using the same water jugs for years now and they’ve yet to let me down.
The grass is dry but the ground beneath me is lush and green- astraturth- plastic shavings.
A windmill spins for no reason. The blades are brittle to the touch but still turning- Plastic.
A cracked dragon tattooed with tags of previous visitors stands guard over the 18th hole.
Its plastic eyes shine in the sun.
If what they always said was true about plastic then some day when we’re all gone; someone will come along and discover our mini gulf courses, and try to decipher meanings from small Eiffel towers and spitting fish.
I tag the dragon as well and leave this webdress in case someone else stops by.
A three foot hot pink sphinx for the pharaohs of the road.
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