Like the siren of the neighbor’s tail lights
As he scraped ice from the windshield, the trees
Waver through the silver of a full moon
And decry the hawk and blade that spread the
Hardpan of dampened earth to the daub and
Waddle communities of people who
Say hello when stepping out to check the
Mail. The communities who may know your
First name but not the color of your eyes.
The communities who can only look
On your face until the small talk gets stale.
The communities who lift the blinds just
Enough to be out of sight until the
Neighbor’s car is warmed up and driving on.