#11

Smashing glass--in the middle of the night,
the sound of a rock through a windshield--
and shouting--brittle explosion and shouting.

Looking out the window, there's a guy
ransacking a car in front of your building,
shouting where is it? Goddamn it, where is it?

You don't understand how no one else is awake
for this. So what if I lied? He's shouting, and
for a moment, you think it's just that your body

hasn't caught up with your voice outside.
It quiets down, and you go outside.
God knows you've told lies, too.

You've never smashed a car window, at least.

It's dark and quiet. The marine layer is sleeping
between buildings, in the road.
Broken glass in a puddle on the sidewalk.

Down the block, a woman in a nightgown
reveals herself from behind a dead lamp post,
raises her hand.