the perfect woman now lives in our neighborhood.
she walks her dogs at dusk.
two brown dogs on two stainless leashes,
one perfect woman in tow.
she walks her dogs down the sidewalks,
crosses streets, cuts through alleyways.
who does she think she is, to bring her perfect self into this forsaken place,
this neighborhood of shotgun shacks, empty twelve-packs,
thirty-year-old cars on concrete blocks?
she is a goddess come to visit the damned.
we can scarcely stand to glance at her.
we can scarcely stand to turn our glance away.
she is as perfect as anything we have ever seen.
we will stand in our front yards, and wait for her to return.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)