I turned the wheel and found the street was round

I turned the wheel and found the street was round,

a circle carved into the level ground.

The houses sit like boxes in a row,

with nowhere left for any car to go.

A red tricycle sits out in the rain,

blocking the path like a dull sort of pain.

The sewer grate breathes out a cloud of steam,

ending the drive like a bad, quiet dream.