ninety seven degrees on a clear one,
and it’s almost the witching hour; noon
night.
next door the neighbors are having
a prodigious fight.
a baby’s bawl drifts in and out
through the walls. a woman screaming
about nothing
I can see. but in her world, it is everything.
I can see her in my mind,
dripping in madness, shaking red.
The rest of us
in earshot
hold our breath and hope
the hiccups fade away.
If the baby starts to cry again,
I won’t mind.