Feeling like I’m in a good, safe place. The robins take turns singing from their respective parts of the block. Slight breeze, green grass, bare feet. White disk brushes fingertips and rolls onto the sidewalk. Blonde bun, so hip. A stray mason jar of water on the rail, a birdie lies halfway between the wide open door and the wooden stairs. Footsteps on the roof. Swaying hammocks. This situation is very hip, it’s a pleasure to be here.
We recited poetry from the stairs after waking up dumb and dazed. Lazy morning. I guess it’s Sunday. Lazy Sunday morning turned afternoon, while we must have been looking away.
“The wind’s picking up.”
“Maybe I should go bring Taylor some mac and cheese.” We’re not 22 anymore, it seems.
“I feel like a winner today.”
“The sound of trash rustling in the wind.
Did you write that one down? Please write that down.”