Wednesday they were all very hungry, tan pit bull rib
sticking,
sitting on thin grass strip of grey two-story, deep bass
woof,
under the carport next door.
I rescued next-door Mary’s abandoned terrier last fall,
tied on a two-foot leash, with puppies.

Looking out my front door, I asked the young girl wearing
turquoise
knickers on a too cold day, if she hurt herself on the
sidewalk or wanted a new dog.
she said, “No,”
bending down to her shoe’s lace on the broken
sidewalk,
last day
subletting a room there, pushing a stroller beside her son,
“Meth dealers are everywhere in this neighborhood,
I mind my own business.”
I don’t and buy her pizza,

while Mary sublets, too drunk to stand up,
falling over by 2:30,
rents her two story grey house Section 8 with Social
Security,
on the broken sidewalk,
Leslie promises to let me drive her to Marjorie Mason,
after her errand to Community Hospital for their shots,

but I see her much too soon, crouching in the side yard
back at Mary York’s house.