The alleys are being watched by the ones that are in the corners and behind your chairs. Roasted chickens with sides of potatoes and greens. Sunday dinner. Heads are bowed. They watch. Near the wall paper they breath and wait for eyes that can see them.
The sun is setting the leaves are falling. Sit and breath. Wait to hear them beneath the boards and around edge of the dining room to the basement.
The alleys appear empty while the basements are full. Twisted silhouettes of branches hover in front of street lights.
The grand piano is playing. They stand around the table as the heads are bowed. They hover below the feet under the table and brush against skin.
They wait. The last words are spoken. The bottle is opened. The chicken is carved.
They wait for the ones among us to join the ones that are watching.
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