I live in a neighborhood called Deerwood
in a house on a street called Leswood, but
with only a manicured lawn, no trees.
A phantom arm hurls newspapers out
a van to my broom-swept cement driveway.
“Today’s gonna be a scorcher” relays
from the radio to my neighbor Bob
to my mailman Brian then to me.
A school bus stops by the retention pond,
where chain-link fences in a flock of cranes.
On my commute to the office I move
the visor as I turn toward the sun
that pierces my vision as it rises,
cutting through the morning humidity.
—Photo credit: LancerE/Flickr