I am sitting behind the big bush on my front porch when the family passes by.

I can hear them, they cannot see me.

I get a glimpse at the ephemeral functionings of the little threesome.

I see us, as though in a slide show.

We traipse up this very street from the 1000 square feet of my parents’ old house.

Escaping confinement, wearing joy and yellow rain jackets. 

In this I feel all that I am throwing away.

For what?

It’s for the what, the what will kill me.