Presence

The bag of rinds and coffee grounds

felt heavier than it was.

I walked it out to the alley gate

while the streetlamp hummed a low, yellow tune.

A motion sensor tripped across the way,

pouring cold light over a dented bin.

Nothing moved, not even a moth,

but the back of my neck began to itch.

On the neighbor’s porch, a plastic owl

sat to keep the pigeons off the rail.

One glass eye caught the beam

and watched me pull the latch,

holding its breath.