ruffdraft

The old man came slowly down the street
lugging a red duffel bag on his back.
He stopped to plant a red
umbrella in the middle of the street.

My squatter neighbor across the street
pulled it out, tossed 
it on the pile 
to wait.

Leaves spin like mobiles, 
caught by invisible spiderwebs.

sun splotches on gray bark and ivy
rain drops on leaves

Drops on the leaves the 
only sign of rain. Fireworks
explode. The heat unabated.

The sun rises, lights the trees.
Across the street a deer
grazes in my neighbors yard.

Fireflies flicker halfheartedly
in the dry heat. Trees
already turning golden.

cool air, morning sun. a 
whiff of death.
I walk back to the house.

The attic window across 
the rainy
street 
winks red in the
empty house.