in the night
rolling tires whirr
the sidewalk glimmers
from the days rain
under the street lamp
frosted glow
slightly the wind
glides upon each cheek
as the scarf loosens
from under its
owners coat
leaves scattered
sporadically along
the pavement
opening the gate
singing with its
change of position
hurriedly closing
with a crash
once he passed
dressed for the evening
planned elaborately
takes a deep breath
presses the doorbell
the silence builds
anticipation of the wait
opening the door
he speaks greetings
“Good evening is helga here?”
“Sorry she does not
live at this address.”
the door slams

-Jennie Nawrocki