Stout little ladies
populate our town
wearing bright gowns
hair in buns.
From ears, chains dangle.
From noses, drip.
They rarely speak
but sometimes shout
when fire breaks out.
They never philander
with bystanders
but somehow when it matters
they propagate
at prodigious rate
on new streets for new houses,
new babes
in bright blouses.

© by Joe Cottonwood.
Used here with the author's permission.