someone wrecking something,
in the front yard, metallic scraping.
A kicking, cursing goblin-crumpling sound.
The next thought is the car.Why does she never lock it?
Pull back the curtain.Nothing but the shivering street
glistening with orange rain.
Look for the tell-tale sign,
glow of the interior light.
Nothing but dead car
empty yard, lines
of long shadows, night.