On the verge of one man’s treasure in shasta view, california

Looks like my neighbor just moved out.
You know when the truck is out front
and one last cabinet needs emptying?

Front curb heaped with a scattershot
of frantic: the game Twister!, cardboard
corners worn by the jam of fingertips.

A red mini-bong, smoky glass intact.
Post-it note: MOVE CAR! Hard Rock
Casino presents Jason Mraz ticket

untorn—unredeemed. Bent business
card for a splashy boat charter in Panama.
Picture frame fastened in purple glitter,

inscribed To The Most Beautiful Mom, empty.
Photos strewn like wildflowers. In one,
a woman behind a boy with arms draped

over his shoulders. My guess? An earlier
version of my neighbor, face tight as a fist,
smothered in a straightjacket of shy.

Prescription label, Bayview Animal Clinic
for Bailey, Canine – administer four times a day.
A party favor from the Mardi Gras bash

I would’ve liked to attend, masked mischief
to hide from the daily grind. I know escape
—it’s my go-to to get by. Still miss

not being the Easter bunny.
Pregnancy stick – one solid insolent line
entwined in the fat curve of a plastic orange peel,

a symbol of fertility. Scanning
for toys, I invent…another try? A sterile
denial tumbles me. Pay Now Medical Balance

Due $23,297. A crease of dark and light dispersed
into filaments left behind, separated.
I wonder: the dog, Bailey – are they okay?