torn screen

wood smack and creak

dog-paw dents and scratches

a broom to the gut

the fleeting triumph
of killing a wasp

mottled silver mesh
brittle as moth wing

bristles of the morning after
mornings after

the evolution of a personal flag
repaired poorly

a porch’s angular shadowed z
afternoon’s dark scar

if you look closely, the face
of someone you recognize

too closely
and you’re snagged
on the thin wire of artifice.

inside the screen, barely visible,
the tarnished handle
of the storm.