A plane flies through the alley it’s engines sputter — or at least that’s what I hear

Furniture moves beneath the floorboards A thump, something scrapes the paper walls

Wood fibers fray at the hands of bandits; they’ll make it through any day now

I feel their clawing through my feet another sound to fill my cornered world

The refrigerator hums to stay alive and turns to ringing in my ears

Then it clears its throat and louder does the humming feel

It cycles into silence and I hear a distant bird

like an afterthought, a memory of the place this was before

Before the concrete flowed into towers, across planes

Before this land was stripped of green in pursuit of permanence, consistency

But it wasn’t for not — this covering of the earth for now I have this box

Where the sun is three squares in a white and rigid sky

and the green that’s left sits in planters and frames

I’ve woken to the sound of saws through rotted trunk

They’re fighting their way in and I struggle to get up

The floor is shaking so loud that I almost forget

There’s a door, I can leave It’s not all covered yet

But there’s a part of us we left under this rubble-to-be

This was once our world too something we pretend to still believe

Outside the sky whistles My lips quiver in the cold

I listen, but their scratching can now barely be heard

I step closer, the deck creaks and their clawing suddenly stops

I breath deep and finally I’m able to slow my thoughts

The quiet of night gently returns and I go back to sleep, now undisturbed

Fucking raccoons.