Bolts of helicopter-bright swoop the sky, obscure Orion,

while my street remains locked. Each house well-kept, historical.

Iced tea or margaritas on the interior patio, a pool,

maybe some Benny Goodman on the radio behind the oleander.

            And as this metal nightbird

                                             searches over Tucson's grid

            close by me

                          failure. Heedless gangland

                                                                    explosion unbuilds

                          part of the city. Brick by brick.

                                                  Hot

                                                                    minutes. Cooled

                          by handcuffs.

                                      Up against a chain link fence.

Curtained windows shut against the siren heat until light.

Susan H. Case (NY)  is the author of The Scottish Café (Slapering Hol Press, 2002). Her work has appeared in Georgetown Review, Texas Poetry Review, 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry, Slant, and elsewhere.