Pleasure is a Virtue

Early fall and everyone
keeping the windows open.

Somewhere an old tea kettle
wheezes like an old woman’s
cold emphysemic laughter.

Oh, look. A June bug is trapped
in the screen door. Buzz saw scent.
Plastic and old dust. In the yard
a laid-back mourning dove coos.

My neighbor fucks the sitter
While his wife is out of town.
The weight of the silky phwap
Is somehow pleasant. But still.

I am adjacent. A breeze
passes the panicked beetle.
Plastic and leftover dust.
Mourning dove’s shape in my ears.

I give the screen a light flick
and smell the hum start again
before the brittle brown shell
cracks on the sidewalk.

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