Neighbor

i wonder what went wrong for them;

towers of empty paint cans and fractured bikes

lining the ratty-ass edge of their ratty-ass yard.

there’s a house like that on every street in america, the rotten tooth,

and i am sorry to tell you, compassion is my second impulse.

i line up my shoes like dance partners.

as neighbor, i am only a mild suggestion. i know that poem about fences but

in this scenario i am a gate, made of bitten tongue and sly smile,

working on swinging open.