In the morning a man hunched over
in a recycling bin jerks his head around
in three different directions, snatching
three cans in quick succession as
he tosses them consecutively over
alternating shoulders into the garbage
bag in the cart behind him with the arc
of dirt clods scraped up by the dog.
A squirrel scampers by, his tail waving
toodle loo, with a fistful of leaves
clamped between his teeth. It stops,
tilts its head rapidly right, then left,
then right again like a jaywalker
crossing traffic and then darts up
the tree to his left, a convict going
up a fence.
After dark, a garage door opens to
reveal a light flicking on. A woman
stands outside the house door
inside of the garage in front of
a running car hands on her hips
she shouts “Where the fuck are you going?”
“Where the FUCK do you think
you’re going?” Her “fuck” rings
out like a bark in the night.
I’m on the curb looking
at my phone but I sit
straight up suddenly
like a startled raccoon
by the dumpster.
She punts the front bumper
of the car in her garage
then turns and jerks her arm
suddenly at the button
on the wall like a cat trapping
a mouse in her paw. The automatic
garage door slowly and mechanically
closes, before the car can pull out
safely, until even the light inside
I pull my rolling tote behind me
with a gloved hand and walk on,
thinking about what groceries I will
purchase to put in my cabinets
for cold days like these.
At the store, the man with the cart
full of cans pushes them into a machine
outside in the dark
one at a time.