Here a house holds.
Curtains in the window unfurled.
paint and a tricycle on the porch
proclaim: "We're staying."
Down the street, empty windows
and shattered panes stare at the sky.
The speculator's plywood standard
is nailed across the door.
Between the houses is a vacant lot,
rubble strewn. Remnants of a foundation
poke through the weeds
like broken teeth.
Back at the first house, at the kitchen table
neighbors sit and talk. They discuss
rents and rats and baseball
and how to defend the block.
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