On Wherever St.

We leave the windows open, and it’s cool in the morning,

at almost seven-thirty.

The tepid dose is almost enough to sedate us.

Children run past our building,

and we hear them from the top floor.

The children (they) yell, and it scares me.

I sit straight up,

and try to record-

by then, they're absent,

perhaps barely placing a purloined sneaker on the grated steps

before the bus pulls away.

I swear I hear laughter

(from all the way up on the top floor),

but there’s no saying who it belongs to now.

That’s the problem with keeping the windows open.