The signs saying For-Sale
stood silently as obedient
orphans as I
paid utilities on my home of
the past two years
for the last time.
I grip my pen to write,
creativity being the only hunger
I possess.
Fantasies about
blaming neighborhood kids for
the signs’ disappearance come to mind while
I sit on my plantation porch
out of sight
of the Greater Downtown Realty malice.
Under the pale aquamarine
summer sky, a hawk searches
for a kill to bring to its nest.
Three ordinary black children
get in an ordinary Altima as
a too-cool-for-comfort breeze
guffaws with indifference.
A robin lands on the railing
3 feet in front of me;
he understands
in his eye contact, or maybe
is simply afraid.
I walked away from my home
finally, or perhaps,
it did from me.
Most importantly, I must remember that
the sunshine still perforates the tree-line
most places along the circumference.
