A Cardboard Box Tumbles

A cardboard box tumbles Down the dark and empty street. Cold gray houses stand watch, No life within, their voices stilled, Their wide eyes vacant. On the porches furniture shrouds Flap and tear in the bitter wind. Dry leaves swirl and whisper. Do these sentinels remember? Do they see a different time? Surely they are waiting For the children’s laughter, The banging screen door, The clatter of skateboards, People calling from the street? Do they long for summer - Sweet, salty air blowing Through their open doors, The smell of beach roses, The squeaking of a porch swing? Do they recall a warmth of sun Soaking into their brittle, Cold, arthritic bones? For now, though, they stand waiting, Staring down the empty street, Watching the cardboard box Tumbling end over end Along the dusty road, Watching the dry leaves swirl And spin into small tornadoes, Watching for summer.