an eight mile drive

it's an 8 mile
drive
from here to Dorchester St.
at the edge of the D.C. line.
twenty minutes
in traffic.
I can almost
see the house, the brick
duplex from
my window. the rusted
gutter and down spout.
I see the chain
link fence. the metal
trashcans out front
without lids. I see
the clothes line full
of dungarees and thin dresses.
the broken steps
and rotted
wood of the porch.
I see the cracked windows.
my brothers and sisters
in the yard,
splashing in a plastic
wading pool.
I hear the dogs bark.
see the cat in her box
having more kittens.
i see
my mother at the
ripped screen door
with a fly swatter
talking on the phone,
the long black cord
curled behind her all
the way from the kitchen.
white tape holding her
glasses together
upon her nose.