Gravity and Rust

The phone won't stop buzzying on the nightstand,

so I climbed through the window to be alone.

I’m standing on a zig-zag of iron and sand,

a skeletal porch that feels like a loan.

Down on the street, a semi-truck thrums,

and the metal beneath me starts to shiver.

My neighbor’s cat creeps out for the crumbs

of a life that makes his whiskers quiver.

I reached out to grab him, to pull him in,

and felt like a thief in a private place.

Green paint flakes off like a dead layer of skin,

falling on my shoes in this vertical space.