NaPo #22: Hunting

Hunting

You see it in a picture, stand on your head,
imagine how the walls might meet at that angle

though it’s obviously impossible. Impossible,
too, that someone deliberately chose that color

for the wall, somehow both green and orange,
so strangely furred, and didn’t think to make

the bed or tuck the litter box away. But you can’t see
the dozens of beer bottles smashed in the back yard,

the sound of bigrigs on that hilly corner braking,
the weird smell of that weird plant someone homed

in the garden’s many weeds, or the way
the neighbor’s deck puts him at crotch level

to your kitchen window, so you’re doing dishes
and hoping he only has clean, clean thoughts.

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