The statue of the laundress
stands in mute assessment.
The day crinkles like celluloid,
producing rodent sounds.
The church league wakes
with thoughts of holy toast.
Garage doors yawn mechanically.
The cool air spits colors.
Sly grass grows around the tree nub.
Somewhere a runner has stumbled,
ankle painfully swelling.
A blue nurse takes too many pills.
One stone in the old wall shifts,
changing everything.
The first word is written
by insects.