*
They've installed a board and a hoop into the side of the garage, the part with no roof
so the kids can play basketball in the sweltering May afternoons, and their dads
can admire the workmanship when they come home at night.
I don't know if this matters. It does nothing about the glaring security problem:
you'd be able to climb the gate anyway -
hoist yourself up on the small concrete roof of the green metal door,
with the one-too-many locks that keep all the wrong people out,
and drop down on the other side to kiss me when everyone's away
or whatever it is ruffians do nowadays.
My friend's father's been very noisy in his claustrophobic make-shift work space
the one built right in front of our windows, the one blocking all the wind - you know the one -
and it's been a source of metallic droning since Christmas. Nevertheless, the automated noise
of heavy machinery is highly preferred to the death threats and knife-wielding of last November.
It's none of my business but it gets very loud sometimes; especially on Sundays when he sings along
to oldies radio and it feels like my grandfather's still alive, you know, before the stroke.
The tabby cat gave birth a few months ago and her kittens are just learning not to run from people;
I carried the white one in my hand the other day as I was waiting for my mother to come home
with the groceries. She was such a dear, terrified yet unprotesting. Their mom disapproves of me.
So please don't jump the gate - the kids will see you, my friend's father will see you, the cats will see you.
And there's no telling who'll talk.
