Everyone knows in which house that
whispered sickness festers revealed
to neighbors in vague snatches as
wispy chimney-smoke spites and looks (half ugly, half curtain)
but the rugs beaten fastidiously clean on the doorstep yield
dust to hide the doorway

the unrebellious kid of the house breathes
mostly fresh air;
in the public playground he rips
at the yellow bits of dandelions (in ascending
order of size) and considers the spiky remains
(green and purple) and in mud puddles
executes them for exposing their pliant white hearts

to Everyone's relief
his pollen jaundiced fingers quietly disappear
nightly into his dusty doorway
held in isolation with their like
by their like.