Unraveled

Behind the apartments, near the bin,

the chair is tipped on its side.

The paint is flaky and paper-thin

with nowhere left to hide.

A single strand of the woven seat

has snapped and started to poke.

It looks like a finger in the heat

reaching out for a joke.

I touched the wood and it turned to dust,

gray flakes on the sleeve of my shirt.

It’s the way things go when they lose our trust

and settle back into the dirt.