Across the Street

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Across the Street

You’re either proud, and want to show 
the inner workings of 
suburban life in the glow

of kitchen light, or you can’t afford
a set of Walmart curtains, which 
your Beamer’s dealer plate

is arguing against. 
Whatever it may be, I find you put 
me in an awkward situation 

every morning, shuffling to my car, 
my left eye in an empty kitchen, my right reflecting
on the episode of Criminal Minds I saw

last night—the stalker peering in, 
the family freaking out,
the pulsing music tense.

But this morning, as I felt 
my eyes drawn upwards by the glow
of hallway light, I did not expect to see

a pod of jellyfish suspended from
a ceiling fixture. My day, 
quite frankly, was ruined,

as I cannot quit pondering
those rubber sea-pods, plump glowing
orbs just floating airily in

the window-light, the meaning of it all:
A present from a friend? 
A love of sea-life? A piece of art? 

If meaning anything, it's surely tangled in 
a mess of stinging tentacles, 
the way that meaning always is—

floating out of reach
but not quite out of mind,

up, hanging in a Second Story window.

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