An apartment building somewhere

Imagining something you've never seen before is imagining something you've seen before. A building with windows covered in dew tailing down the glass like transparent blood, children hanging arms down and scraping their elbows against yellowing stucco. Picking scabs shaped like states, balling up dried blood into circles. It's too hot outisde. Nobody is using the fire hydrants for showers, slickingh air back behind ears. Flies orbting piles of trash.

Mothers shake skillets filled with strips of meat and yell at the clock. Dad drags his finger across a newspaper ad for a used lawnmower, "2001 model Husqvarna. New drivebelt and battery. Worn seat cover, bald tires. Make offer." He puts on reading glasses and skims again. Skim milk in a glass.

Meats burns in a skillet and children continue to drag elbows, ball blood and scream at piles of trash. Somebody is across the street buying bus tickets with a sandwich bag filled with old pennies and arcade tokens. He thinks about a time twenty-six years ago in Idaho, riding a horse through a storm. An old horse with knees without cartilage, bone rubbing bone. Spurs into muscle. Drawn breaths behind rotting teeth with oats and grain stuck between. Thunder rolling along clouds like the beads of water down the apartment complex glass.