I turn around to an unfamiliar sound.
My strange neighbor stands in my yard.
He has a hose, and sprays casually,
glancing furtively in my direction.
The water is warm.
He turns his back to me, then quickly comes around.
Spraying now a fan of fine white sand.
I run for a broom, a shovel, a hope.
i return to backyard dunes,
as over the fence he floats, gone.
I slide open my back door,
admitting encroaching sands,
and run through my house to the front room.
Someone has laid a dead rodent on the white pile carpet.
It smells as i pick it up, and leaves a stain.
A face appears behind my front curtains, then flees.
An image of a long dead niece.
From behind the sofa, a giggle.
I bolt through the front door.
The street is dunes of white.
There is a plant pot placed in my driveway.
A single stick, bereft of foliage, sprouts from it.
And, hanging from a branch, a furniture tag.
It bears the word ICARUS.
Twenty… this dream of anxiousness.

4 responses to “Twenty… this dream of anxiousness.”
Reblogged this on Go Dog Go Café and commented:
gizzylaw picks this for Pay It Forward Thursday at the GDG
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Thanks so much!
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your are welcome!!
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I don’t know how to explain this but your words make me see every grain of sand. I feel this poem. Thanks!
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