Someone’s civil war takes place in the frontyard
we cannot look into each other’s eyes
for the glint of truth that splits the day  

The letter carrier delivers terms of agreement  
to the box, slides off the porch like an ell; 
across the way a pink cab expels a uniform  

We recount our various positions:
the collector of complaints
a keeper of birds
late night clerk at Video Max
wrapper for Manhattan boutique  

What’s left is left at the courthouse
in some old wooden file drawer
 
Will history speak kindly of how we surrendered?