We ponder the trees in an undying city
how the street must have looked 30 years ago
drinking coffee, me a fat middle-aged man
wearing his white undershirt on the porch

workmen roll by and nod acknowledgment
the suntanned gentrified class saunter by earbudded sunglassed dressed for lattes or pilates

the smell of the water twists around the breeze
in the manner of a familiar lover
the alley sunspackled
as the cicadas wake for the day:
an army of garbage cans always ready
for the remainders of civilization.