bench on the porch

here she

comes again,

on her bike,

same time,

everyday.

got her

short legged

dog,

on a

short leash.

i swear,

she’s gonna

run that

little guy,

right into

the ground.

then she’ll

feel bad.

the eucalyptus

is losing

branches,

someday,

that tree’s

gonna fall,

on the house.

in a summer

monsoon.

that car’s

been there,

a long time,

never moves,

looks bad.

i wave,

to the guy

on the corner,

when i see him,

in his garden.

retired fbi

agent,

with perfect

flowers.

there’s dick,

he’s dying,

so is his

wife,

she can’t

breathe.

i give’em

a year,

no more

than two.

then i

will get,

new neighbors.

those kids,

across the

street,

jumping on

a trampoline,

with a

safety net.

ain’t going

home,

for supper,

with a

broken arm.

not like,

the old days

that guy

at the end,

of the cul-de-sac,

still has

his stuff,

in containers,

in his

driveway.

next to

his fancy van,

specially

equipped,

for the

handicapped,

since his

house burned

down,

last year.

i don’t know

the names,

of those to

the north.

they spend,

a lot

of time,

on the

reservation.

love their

pitbull,

petey.

someone’s

grilling,

i can smell,

lighter fluid,

and coals.

the mailman,

is late.

he has water,

that’s smart,

on a day

as hot,

as today,

i can’t go

inside yet,

till the

hummingbird

stops by,

looking for

his girlfriend.

and that

old guy,

walks by,

real slow,

like a

buffalo,

with his

wiener dog.

i’ve seen

him,

a hundred

times.

he’s said

hello twice.

i tell him,

i’ll give

five bucks,

for his dog.

he never

says anything,

all the way,

to the end,

of the block,

and back.

the saguaro,

is leaning,

to the left,

so am i.

the sun,

drops below

the roof,

the shade

feels nice.

it must,

be time

to go inside.

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