More rats scurry out in the night now, crossing the wet street,
chewing through the remains.
The girl across from us was never sick.
She kept indoors.
She peaked at me from behind a curtain.
One of the boys down the street started bothering her,
throwing pebbles at her window, leaving ugly gifts.
His body was found in the deadend ditch, rats gnawing at him.
They wondered why his skin was so blue.
Within a week, many more along our street had turned as blue as him.
Perhaps ours was never a real neighborhood
but just a place invented for memories of the dead.
Now I am the only one in our house left alive.
But I am safe as long as I stay in the light of the girl's eyes.
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