Utterly transient, this wind-scoured day,
lunching in your car, in the parking lot
of a three-star restaurant, windows open
to the sound of high heels tapping asphalt,
of helium laughter, deliberately timed
Home, curtains wafting, another coffee,
another walk-the-dog, neighbors creaking
on hollow, hardwood floors, and phone
silent as Sleeping Beauty, who waltzes in
from a close-knit, southern town, muddy
landscape of politics, religion, ignorance
We might all like to be someone someday,
but luck is just a bundle of noise, hammers
pound on a roof halfway down the block,
vociferous robin holds forth in a cherry tree
near the door, solo cricket tests the pale
afternoon air, waits, but no one answers
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Michael Jastremski/Open Photo
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