The neighbor's yard smells of plastic and mulch

The neighbor's yard smells of plastic and mulch,

an artificial winter, a holiday gulp.

I remember the garage, the smell of the gas,

and the secret I found in the oil and the grass.

Behind the lawnmower, tucked in the grime,

was the red-and-gold foil of a different time.

The North Pole paper, the rolls on the shelf,

meant the magic was handled by someone herself.

A stray piece of tape on the concrete floor,

stuck to the grease by the heavy side door.

I touched the bike frame, still cold from the night,

and felt the world harden, losing its light.