we have lazy saturday mornings and
quiet wednesday nights.
suburban streets and crossing guards and
small convenience stores.
we have community built on cramped synagogues
and friday nights at bubbie’s.
we have rows of houses, sit tightly, fit together.
tight lipped except for
whispers of who's strange and who's odd and
who’s that? who’s they?
we have networks of gossip and news that
we have families of hoarders and junk drawers that hold
what we can't find a place for,
hang onto nails and elastic bands and pushpins.
plastic bags shoved in plastic bags
and i go with them.