vacant

one day
the house down
the street is vacant.
all the cars have
gone.
five mattresses
lean
against
the no parking
sign
and hydrant.
a bloated t.v.
sits next to a box
of clothes.
you see a yellow
dress,
a pair of children's
boots,
a plastic doll
with a missing arm,
her blue marbled
eyes staring up
into the sky.
a neck tie for
Christmas, red
with mistletoe
dotted
along its length.
the wind
curls into the open
windows of
the dark rooms,
the power down,
the door
unclosed.
you remember saying
hello to
them
just yesterday
and the man
responding
with a hearty wave.