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