Front Porches, DC
Striped awnings
you crank back
with something that
looks like a
corkscrew
in the pitch black,
frogs and cicadas,
crickets, the low
whine of bats. Roses
drip. Floorboards,
the paint peels
on creak as
aunts and uncles
slap down cards.
Citronella. Ice
tea clinks in
a tall glass.
Calico cat in a
hammock. Drone
of cars. Wicker
unravels so
slowly you
can't hear