Old Town

On the patio, a four-foot blonde girl
sits in a Windsor chair, holding a pellet
gun, chewing jerky. A new homemade
pumpkin pie aroma lingers in her nose
and she smiles. She can hear Mama and Pa
talking in the kitchen. She swallows her food,
The dry-meat flavor slides in her neck.
She leans from her chair, closes her eyes, catches
that cool breeze on her face. The clouds shift
and the sunlight floods through the branches
and warms her face. Hummingbird wings buzz
above her head where one drinks from the feeder,
the one hooked to the ceiling. The breeze wakens
more and the wind chimes tinkle. A hot-red
twenty-seventeen Mustang zips
around the street corner. The girl’s eyes open.
The vehicle roars across the street,
windows down. The driver shouts at his
phone. Then the car is gone. Then
The bird is gone.