Ordinance

The screen door is a mesh of grey,

a shadow watching from the hall.

He didn't wave at me today

or acknowledge me at all.

The note is taped against the box,

a jagged script of late-night noise.

He hates the way the metal knocks,

the lack of grace, the lack of poise.

The duct tape curls upon the bin,

a sticky strip of silver skin.