A System Wired for Hope

Two men live in the yellow house. They both have gray hair, the same build. They drive foreign cars and cut their own grass. Their dog is called Sister. She barks when they let her out and bares her teeth more than would seem justified. The woman across the street always wears black. She parks her black car on the street in front of her house, removes parcels from the trunk every time she comes home and disappears through the black door. The man who lives next to her wears his hair in a ponytail. His wife is the one who cuts the grass. She has the same name as the street, but if there’s confusion it’s probably not rampant. He drives up in his truck listening to talk radio. He is apparently a little hard of hearing, although he might just like loud company. A new couple moved in next to the two men. He’s bald and she’s a doctor; she carries her white coat and stethoscope over her arm to her car each morning. There is a sense that this is what new doctors do. They also have a new baby. The baby is not comfortable with being a baby and cries a lot. There are probably many parenting books lying about, face down. The woman who walks her corgi drives a blue Volkswagen; the corgi’s name is Seymour and never seems in doubt about where he’s going. People from other streets walk down our street, sometimes with dogs, sometimes alone or in pairs. An old couple go by in the morning; the woman likes white pants, the man has a schedule of hats. Children ride their bikes to school, their helmets and backpacks giving them the appearance of a destination you’d hope children could be spared. In the fall, it is possible to hear the high school marching band practicing. My wife says we have to remember they are only children. Some of them walk past our house in sneakers of many hues. The town requires the trash to be placed in colored bags, which we have to buy at the supermarket. Blue, Yellow, Salmon. When it rains, a sense of community floods the neighborhood as the water comes off the roofs, rushes down the downspouts and driveways into the street, forming rivulets of similarity before disappearing into the sewer. I’m not sure how to interpret all the misdirected mail.