The radio drones on. Sunshine assumes the wall. The cat splayed in a patch on the carpet. Pull chains rattling from the fan. The torrid afternoon. Her green blanket, the bedspread, thrown atop the one oblique arched window. Shade for my art table that she wanted for our dining table. Casually it falls to the floor like a dress. So graceless I’m surprised. The X-Acto blade is dull. The Elmer’s runs and doesn’t dry. My palms scintillate with sweat and the entire thing is smudged. 4 likes on Tumblr. I rest my head on my arm.
Outside the summer weighs on me, each structure stark and languorous. The light a mass of yellow. The pink bungalows where the Salvadorans live wholly lost to the dazzling sun. Car hoods shimmer and the concrete burns. The sprinklers douse it outlandishly. As if a succulent garden could pretend an apartment was in Los Feliz. Spectacularly oblivious to the mattresses dumped on Normandie. To the WHITE FENCE tag scrawled across the Armenian day care center. The violent diagonal “E,” painted over and written again. Palm trees make the paradise. The pay phone is missing its drug dealer.