are the homes you love still available?

jersey sits where i left it. kids outside past dark mouthing off at passing cars.

i used to be one of them

spitting curses like sunflower seeds. 

winter used to mean the AC ran hot, air thick and damp like a second skin. breathable, bearable. i used to press my palms to the vents and pretend the warmth was something given, not stolen.

honeysuckles still rot sweet on the fences but

i remember the way they choked the chain-links—climbing, curling, suffocating.