I wonder when the wind

will stop merely flirting

with my neighbor’s

broken screen door.


And, instead, just tear

it off its hinges and fling it off

into the other side of the yard.


Or maybe the wind will

come by some day

in a much more serious

mood and send that door

flying far up into the sky

never to be seen again.


Like something out of

“The Wizard of Oz,” maybe

the wind could bring

with it that mean old

lady on her bike, pedaling

the air with stabbing,

circular motions of her

pointy, lace-up shoes.


I’m waiting and watching

through the windows,

up here on the hill.