One of these units has a fuse box.
One of them tutters a rug to another corner
I say we’re better off in escrow.
The street is a one-way and it mumbles. Down the street the sand crabs or sand fleas flatten in the sandlines.
Tomorrow, the hail we knew as children,
or kept as mementos in fridges, is 53% possible.
After much deliberation we take to milk crates, rest the back of its heads on the back of the wall’s head,
and parse out the day. We put peppermint on our hands and hum numbers in the new light of shower curtains.
Over a stove one says
“Today’s kids smile, like the wild smile,”
and shyly turns away.