In Keyholes

There is an apothecary of neighbors,
who live next door with a fury
of tinctures and wisecracks.
Everybody wants a turn, a chance
to throw insults like stones into
the pool.   Talk behind our backs,
Can do that blindfolded, one arm
tied behind.  The shovel-ready sunlight
is falling all over window sills,
dusty underneath, piled with last year’s
holiday cards, never mailed.
It curves on the furniture, conversations
peeling-off in layers.   Pearls and high-heels
weigh more than their ideals—
In backyards, there are noises,
jump-rope and dryers will …