Not a soul on the street
but a unison of hums emit
from neighbors' windows.
Railing paint peeling
a bit more now
while dry grass
weeps with thirst.
Even the ant retreats
to its mound
too weak to carry
a crumb on its back.
I threw out the garbage
and the wretched stink
from cooking scraps
was the final sign.
And no bikes
no skateboarders
no sunbathers
just me carrying
a laundry basket
two hundred feet
one-way, under
an unrelenting sun.
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