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I’ve come home for a few days to cure myself of the city.
My mother asks me: What are they doing across the street?
How would I know what is happening in an abandoned house across the street?

I take the dog out on a familiar path and move through old childhood stories.
All of the unfixed fears sprout again from the shrubs along the way.

Why wasn’t I invited to that Halloween party? He had no reason to keep me out.
I showed up anyway, the first person there, and his mother looked at me like I was an intruder.

Near here, we found a rusted guillotine in a shed with a mannequin’s head below it.
Probably the work of someone who spent too much time with their parents.

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