The Neighborhood

I took a wrong turn coming back from the bar,

my head a bit heavy, my balance a mess.

I ended up here, where the iron bars are,

feeling a sudden and sharp sort of stress.

I didn't mean to walk past the dead in the dark,

but the caretaker's shed has a sensor-activated light.

It clicked on like a scream or a dog’s sudden bark,

and the plastic flowers turned gray in the night.

There’s a miniature flag in the dirt by a stone,

tattered and wrapped round its own wooden stick.

It looks so small and so deeply alone.

I feel my stomach go heavy and sick.

I’m too embarrassed to turn back around

and run from the silence that’s gathered in heaps.

I just walk a bit faster, my shoes on the ground,

while everyone under me finally sleeps.