Grave diggers clear the drive way
brushing aside gravel dustings and stately brochures
the children in their homes
where they should not be
eyes heavy with screen time soreness
& hot lunches.
O, to be young again!
the young say
& bare fangs at the mail man
blue and white masks triangle-stretch
against skyscraper noses.
Hope entertains herself in the flapping of white sheets
on the laundry line outside the back
kissing the lonely blue sky with each swipe of wind
each clack of a keyboard.
I look in the mirror
and am startled from the bones.