by T.J. Masluk
Neighbors
mostly young—
seen from my porch,
washing their cars,
trimming
the leafy hedge,
iPhoning Mister
and Missus Jones.
Me?
old and languid,
whiling away the hours
staring at darkened
factory windows,
remembering
Main Street,
magical shops
and immigrant folk
I see (and hear) even now
through the eyes
of a long-dead child.