Bespeckled awnings under the eaves
Of a sloped roof, peeling, drooping
Windows that slept like a little girl,
Tired from school.

The streets were crooked, and the
Smiles glaringly bright in the dusk-
Tinted light—photographs with the
Flash accidentally left on.

People curled up under knarled,
Grumpy oaks, and the children
Shivered on damp basement
Floors, oblivious.

The cold became the normal,
And comfort was everything
All the other kids complained
About at home.

As the sun snored through the hills,
Souls of heavy bones made their
Dark circles deeper, and their hearts
More full of holes.

The daytime was merely the presence
Of light—it ceased to mean anything

More. Fatigue grew a body and helped
Clear the trash after dark.