spews from a drier vent. A screen door
slams. “Carry it?”—a woman’s voice—
“You’re going to carry it!?” Now I hear
the sound of castors on the sidewalk.
Car doors close softly, engines
turn over and catch. A boy on his bike
delivers papers. I hear the smack
of The New York Times in its blue plastic
sheath, hitting the wooden porches.
A woman jogs by, thrusting a child
in a stroller ahead of her, her arms
straight as shafts, the baby’s fair
head bobbing wildly on its frail stem.
In the next street a garbage truck cries out.