A butterfly of newspaper floats over concrete
Earth accepts as stone for a few short
Years then cracks.
A candy-striped ribbon snakes the heated air.
A jet took off a few minutes ago, but sun
Warms runways, too.
Out at the end, where the chain-link fence
Falls over, what may be an exhausted
Airplane tyre lies in the posture
Of a body rising from pavement.
And if I were a kid, I’d swear that plastic bag
Undulating above the wrecked guard shack
Were a Portuguese man-of-war or at least
A jellyfish because all that’s
Happening here at the house is curtains tapping
Their fingers on the sill, sun closing its right
Then left eye, and two weeds outside, there,
Slapping at each other’s leaves.