Science  Write  Now

On Sundays, my neighborhood smells

of laundry, lilac blooms running out

of vents in search of pasture.

In summer, air conditioners rumble

beneath cumulus sprinkled skies. Last night,

the armadillos marched in. Locked but not loaded.

They camped beneath my neighbor’s trees.

Took late-night snacks on his lawn

then mine. I can’t help but like their waddle

from his maples to my dogwoods.

I like watching them dig up my mulch,

arming themselves with fuel.

But I know my neighbor.

I know their time is limited.