We bicycle down the driveway, turn
right on Lucille Court, a construction zone
of framed houses, smell of fresh wood.
Don’t enter the houses, we’re told
though once the work crews clear out
each day we take the tour. Plywood
smells different from two-by-fours.
No one dares go barefoot
because of glass & nails so we catch
the splinters in our hands. Split-levels
like the one we live in but without
windows & doors, wall to wall,
& beige appliances. One house burns.
No one told who lit the match.
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