Even from the sidewalk
this house smells of age mothballsm yellow VIctorian photographs
; of dusty old clothing starched-hanging heavy in the attic--chewed
by neglect gathering cobwebs like loneliness.
But outside on the
pavement, through the crowd in clean white jogger's T's, there are
things alive, things untouched--a sudden strong back in red shorts
and high tops whistles then fades like vapor down the boulevard.