by DS Maolalai.
the street stretches
dusty fingers
through drywall
and dry afternoons,
places itself
carefully
on the middle c
of the neighbour’s piano.
life lays its load
in the shade of the pavement,
sleepy as broken
delivery vans
and a man
in a white t-shirt
leans on the wood
of his windowsill.
eating a hot
bacon sandwich.
drinking a can
of warm beer.