Shortlist, Serpentine Streets, and Schadenfreude

So my poem for the Guardian Poetry Workshop made the shortlist, here (scroll way down). It plays in London, apparently. Whoo hoo! Sadly, they messed up the transition between S4 & 5, which also derailed the form (each successive stanza was meant to start with the english translation of one of the list of spanish words/phrases in S1), but we won't quibble.

There's a wonderful road in Issaquah, which I figure is a little-known shortcut. Maybe it's just little-used. There are two very sharp hairpin turns, and my friend, you'd better drive the recommended 10 MPH, or you'll be off the edge into the void. But it's gorgeous, especially in the middle of all that gangrenous suburbia. When you get to the top of the hill, it makes a hard right, then goes gently swooping up and down for about a mile. At the end, before it disappears into a main road, there is an incredible amount of new construction. Huge houses. Expensive tile roofs. There was a lovely little valley along there; nothing fancy, just grass sloping away from the road, an old fence and a shed, some apple trees. All gone and filling in. They've put a concrete retaining wall along the road sporting metal silhouettes of cougars in various poses (the area's called Cougar Mountain). I guess it's better than unrelieved cement, but it just serves to emphasize the point that no self-respecting cougar would go anywhere near there now. I know people need places to live, but those huge, ostentatious houses with no yards ... it seems like such a waste.

Which brings me to the Monster of Lake Washington. There have been several reports of a creature which appears to be either a caiman or an alligator, probably some idiot's escaped or released pet. I'm finding this amusing because (a) nobody's been hurt, and (b) the area is Medina/Hunt's Point -- probably the poshest neighborhoods on the Eastside; Bill Gates has his compound there. So it pleases me to see the high priests of luxury get their cage rattled, a little. Lock up your lapdogs, ladies, and be sure to warn the gardener; it's so difficult to find good help these days.