lessons, around the block
big enough to hold the leash now,
she asks, “is that one apartments?” so
I explain counting mailboxes,
and that one’s a single family – you always
like their Halloween candy - but count this
one, four boxes affixed to the green
Victorian, two Direct TV dishes;
they built big back then, and
many in town were broken up
“like our neighbors” she says, “but not ours,”
and I say yes, like our neighbors,
like Miss Jeanne who gardens and
lets you pick peppers, or
Mrs. Johnson walking Bernie the
Dachshund, or Tom who repaired that
old red truck and moved when
his brother’s health failed;
I do not bring up the apartments across
the street where flashing red and blue
came for the stabbing and dealing last summer,
but she’s focused on our dog now anyway
because we’ve come to the porch where
that old woman smokes and keeps a sleeping
bag for her son, and she always steps down
to rub our beagle’s belly and floppy ears