Milk Case

A Saturday sun wastes hours on
on car hoods and roofs.Thistles
finger up the wire fence,
Ginsberg's sunflower long harvested
for a milk case vase. Dogs
and cardboard circle the alley, house
numbers a cramped checklist
of sideways bicycles and smokers
drifting from the tilted mailbox
to the porch divan.

Repainted recycling sign, open
and old as Jesus when He went,
gives preference to metal;
artists welcome.  Hub caps and hip cats
still cranking lawn sculptures
to connect the wealthier
to hand me down living, the free box not
being without cost.

When the tumble comes,
and all is inverted,
the wall of old Maytags
and Wurlitzers in the barn
will speak of the trouble we took
to separate colors and dance
to age appropriate genres,
everything in common
held at arm's length, lest, like crickets, we
rub elbows the wrong way
at temperature's change.