“Living just enough/ just enough/ for the city”

Stevie Wonder

I am urban but isolated

discovering a beautiful park less than a mile from home

after decades living here

times out my windows could be a painted scrim

the year a rabbit lived here

the time a fire across the back fence

so many changes I’ve never seen

streets get no wider but all the feral cars & trucks

looping from interstate to arterial to alley and back

what will the drivers do when the cars drive themselves

when I just want to sleep in the back but the car is hungry for miles

my inner garage, my chest’s used car lot

I don’t eat gasoline but food fertilized by it, moved by it

all those delivery containers abhorring their own vacuums

either a meal that’s filling but tasteless

or one with such devious flavors you always want more

we’re encouraged to dash, to be delivered.

what’s on the menu, the itinerary, 

rooms inside rooms, slouching houses, 

walls arguing with ceilings, my faith in the floor 

increases as gravity owns more and more of it, 

blocks run through so many changes the original melody’s 

no longer on the chart, songs future  ghosts will think they created, 

neighborhoods certain stations were blocked from or avoided

rejecting what our parents listened to and where they lived

more words no longer allowed on the air waves

unexpected homogeneity, one key and so many doors

whoever gets there first, with the first four notes 

I know when I am