The whole world in a neighborhood,

blooming this and that. My legs

numb from lying horizontal

on the concrete slab posing

as a stoop. Nearly rotten

strawberries in a cast-off bowl

beside a statuesque rabbit

on the lawn. I had circled him

though he refused to come to feast,

avoiding accidental poisoning

by human contact, a fear, or something

unrevealed in his frozen black eyes.

This day I guess God made, hotness

and locals flicker by the fence

while I number the deaths

I’ve known of late.

I turn myself sunward

but buildings grow taller

and obstruct, taking away animals––

clouds––mirages of not sane houses.

My work uncoils midday,

no more or less disturbed when

another teenaged body-filled car

rolls down the brick laid street

voluptuously with its amplified bass

sending catbirds sporadic

towards phone lines.

I pace without lifting a limb.

I mourn.

I make myself useful.