Sarah is walking home from the deli,
and cradles a tuna fish sandwich.
It is autumn. The rays of sunlight has
fallen, quick, over the mountains;
my neighbor got a goat and names him Will.
Sarah is walking home, and spies a lonely kitten,
drinking from a canister of milk someone
left on their porch.
The wind sighs lonely and sad. Darkness falls
in every street corner. Fireflies come out,
one by one, and greet the darkness of the sky.
Sarah is walking home, she holds the sandwich
as if it is her last link to earth.
No one will befriend her, now.
Not even the old man
who brings her the mail, a sad, sorrowful face of
forgetfulness, a man with Alzheimer's.
She knows people are like chess pieces. She knows
people don't know about sunlight,
or how to buy new cars.
A man drives a hole in the world.