New Curtains

The porch light is a pale, weak eye

staring at the Tuesday sun.

I don't mean to look as I drive by,

but the damage is already done.

A blue plastic wheel in the dirt

where my lilies used to grow.

The sight is a dull, physical hurt,

a place where I can't go.

Through the glass, a shadow falls,

a heavy, floral, jagged pleat.

The ghosts are inside the walls,

and I’m just a car on the street.