I watch my neighbor cut our grass
With his teeth. Clouds pass under

The sun making it difficult
To read my newspaper. My hands

Look bruised and wrinkled like
I've been wringing a deluge. I walk

From the porch to her Mustang
And turn on the radio and mess

The knobs and antenna until
I find metal. The car's caked.

I wonder what kind of molars
My neighbor holds in that mouth?

I wonder when it was, exactly,
I became fly-by-night? When

Did she hire him to work my work?
'Never have I seen anything

So green,' I say, later, over drinks.
He smiles, thinking I mean grass.