The Posters are like birds returning from a migration;

first only a few arrived, the too many.

The Posters are gazelles in a herd;

multiplying often and hanging together.

The Posters walked in one day and chose their spots.

Every so often they change,

as if maturing.

Soon they grow old

growing prominent wrinkles.

They begin to peel and hunch over with back pains.

Then the posters go to their graves.

A deep grave with a plastic bag.

Then a new generation of The Posters begins...