The radio plays old rock and roll
on the porch of a house overlooking the
the same park your apartment does,
albeit a different angle.
One of the men, in hard hat and towel hung around his shoulders,
walks through the yard to where one of the men
cuts tree branches, all left
on the sidewalk
to block your passing.

A yard sale across the street
lures you to hustle across Hardesty,
and although you have no spare dollars,
you walk up the steps to ask a woman who doesn’t speak English –
and neither do you speak Spanish –
“How much for this shirt?”

You smile, and allow yourself
to revel in a moment’s breeze
and walk down the street
to the strains of
“Duke of Earl.”