the house a whir of systems:
old refrigerator fan
in four four time
a big fly circling
the melon molding
under cling wrap
clock ticks
the hiss, august breezes
in the oak next door
the constant crickets
the toaster oven bleats
to tell me that my half stale bread
is ready to be smeared
with mayonnaise and onions
the silverware rattles in the drawer
the scrape of a knife across the bread
my teeth my tongue my throat
my dinner eaten standing up
the click of ice cubes in a plastic cup
that was stylish in the sixties
a rasp of paper napkin
on late night whiskers
a sponge across a cutting board
a sniff provoked by mustard
footsteps and the brush
of corduroy in the hallway
the crescendo diminuendo
of piss hitting water
the squeak and wheeze
of the automatic drip irrigation
in the courtyard starting up
light switch clicking off
breath,
a cricket solo
a coyote
beep beep beep
it's five a.m.
and I am
back.
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