Only last week did my phone ring,
I let it linger for just a moment to appear
like I get these calls all the time,
but briefly lost myself in the window and the view it kept for itself:

The trees that cut their leaves
Because they can do winter alone and bare,

Hard stone walls running rings around the land,
Bound together forever as a pair,

Cars are parked on roadsides at math-book textbook
Angles, parked without care,

Curtains covering windows across the street
Hiding makeup clad, moneyed affairs

Bus stops perched on top of the hill,
Red and built up from the ground, level and square,

Up the high street and off on the left
Are the new deigned houses of the poor millionaires,

Walking dog husbands walk unaware
Down paths belonging to the youth

Who sell drugs to each other with a
Giggle and an old rug to cover up their stash.

Only last week did my phone ring,
I let it linger for just a moment to appear
like I get these calls all the time,
my mother was on the other end,
“What took you so long?” she says.