Frogs don’t chirp this
Strangely silent evening.

Not a peep from my tomatoes
Struggling to please me
More than last year’s jars
Of deep red succulence.

Less steam today.
The desert deluge passed into Texas
And we didn’t see a drop
Peculating for dry clay.

Children sometimes play
And cry, and scream
From the yards next door.
But not today.

No. This silent eve, all but a timid
“Shrip” punctuates the stillness
Like any mystery elbow
In every crowded subway.