That neighbor boy whose name I don’t know
spends hours skittering up and down,
leaping off and scaling ‘em again,
perpetually climbing a set of trailer steps
to nowhere. 
Lord knows where they came from
but they get plenty use. 
He drags them all over the overgrown yard. 
He can’t be more than eight or nine now
and I suspect he’s gone plumb feral. 
Shirtless and straining with sweat, 
wearing nothing but a look of determination 
and a pair of shorts and cowboy boots, 
he shoves the steps close to the creek as he can get. 
Climbs up, leans out over the concrete culvert… 

And that’s when I had to close the curtains. 
Well, after he added a rusty hand saw 
to his delicate balancing act. 
We’ve only had one conversation in three years — 
“What’s your doggie’s name?” I hollered.
“That’s Nikki,” he calmly replied,
“She ate her puppies one time. All five of ‘em.”