Raid, Interrupted

there is a sound like an air-raid siren
outside my window.
grinding gears and some sort of heavy machinery
destroying
so that they can rebuild
to destroy again.
i barely notice the sounds anymore
but the siren-
that makes me a little uneasy
as if it's a warning
as if, like poor donnie in his bed
i might be crushed
for paying attention
and not listening.

there is laundry on the bed, waiting to be folded
and i'll move it in a day or two
when my feet get tired
of being too warm
at night

and outside, over the sounds
of impending doom
and the creation of destruction
their voices rise
over the dull crack of a plastic bat
and the rubber sound of flip-flops
marking concrete territory
float into the air,
crumbs of conversation for me to catch
and hold
blackberry bushes
and look at that cloud
and that would have been a home run
but you caught it.
and i keep these things, the sounds
the taste of spring coming in through the screen
slipping unnoticed past the unfinished laundry
and the deadlines waiting
and i tune out the air-raid warning
close my eyes
and breathe.