the blueberry pie

someone leaves
a blueberry pie on
your porch.
it's hot and steaming,
the crust
still warm.
there is cinnamon
too sprinkled
about.
you look up and down
the street to
see who might have
left it.
there is no note.
no clue.
but you see no milk
either
to go with it,
no carton, no
cold bottle,
not even a glass
half filled
sitting on the porch
beside it.
how thoughtless
and mean people
can be sometimes.