There was a pungent not quite socially acceptable smell in the air
under the darkness of the end of the work week.
Down the corridor of the cul-de-sac
thick green smoke swirled.
into the windowsill.
Under the shade of a wrinkling summer umbrella
as useless as a caboose
Peering at the neighbor for judgmental reactions.
The train wreck
behind bright lighted out windows
yelled out with scorn
your wind is coming my way.