Miss Hazel

Miss Hazel sleeps
with two eyes open:
one out the window
one on the cats.
She's lived on N. Gratz St.
her whole life,
attends church
every Sunday.
Wednesday, too.
"S'long as y'all be good
an' behave yoselves,
we be fine," she tells me from
the second floor.

Our street seldom sleeps,
Miss Hazel knows best.
Cats claw into the night,
ignitions won't turn
over as darkness
submits to the day.

We don't need cans and strings
or telephones.
Just a voice and an open window
to poke out the head,
check the scene,
shout a hello or profanity.
A "how you feelin'?" or
"Shut yo' mouth."