Drove back for a dentist not the block—

Drove back for a dentist, not the block—

just the office off Myrtle that takes my plan.

Parked beside the lot where the corner store

used to be. Chain-link and a padlock

around gravel now. A permit on the fence

so bleached you can't read the date or the name.

No crew. No concrete. A porta-john.

I sat in the car ten minutes

like the block might recognize me. Come on.

This city never learned your name. It sits

the same the day you leave as the day you're born

into it. Same cracks. Same ordinary grit.

A woman walked past with a grocery bag

and didn't look up.

That was the whole story.

That was always the whole story.