the trash collectors are on strike,
my tap water turns to flames,
the madness
in this city
sounds like buzzsaw blades
people notice their garbage
only when it doesn’t disappear,
notice love when it goes,
and lonely when it stays
we notice the gutters
when they overflow,
the mailman
when he doesn’t show,
the weather when it isn’t nice,
the puppy on the sidewalk,
and the old dog
only when he finally dies
the plants that bloom with
the spider on the bedroom wall,
and the silence of that room
when the sirens out
there stop
but rarely
do we notice
the one that needs it
most