Someone left the garage door open.
The right hand side one. There is no car inside,
the left one hidden by the left hand side door,
still down.
Chunk up a good hack, looking at it.
The gutters need cleaned. Known before the lit out.
The chuck through teeth lands square
inside a flower pot grown over. Glare.
Where the hell are the keys?
Break a window. There are the keys
beside the sunglasses. The hell
gotten up to, taken away long enough
for leopard slugs to crawl
up the cellar stairs walking down
after banging knees on coffee tables
well stocked with envelops,
notebooks, and pens, and bills.
Not a soul in sight
above ground.
Beneath:
the shop.
Still chewing the weed picked
at the front of the driveway
where the bus line ended and
the acres began.
City mice are
one hell of a cup of tea
and good to keep
at arms length. Most of the time.
Get cleaned up.
Start with the glass, then the garage door opener.
Then the gutters.
Then the lawn.
Then walk the driveway and maybe check the gotdamn mail.
It is good to be home.
It is better to be
in the cool of the basement.
It is better to be near
the trees.
