In the summer, things began to go missing.
Lawn mowers, curtain shears, the trash cans
from behind the bar. Soon, entire households
missing in the night. Even the dogs long gone,
broken chains staked to the ground.
The yards littered with forgotten pajamas
and cardigans strewn over the fence.
What we didn’t lose, we took to stealing,
harboring garages fat with record players
and random suitcases filled with doll parts.
Took to shoving trash bags full
of Tupperware into crawl spaces.
The women held tea parties where they’d
disappear into thin air, leaving behind heels
and dainty hats. Lipstick stains on napkins,
locks of yellow hair tangled in the trees.
