Sod

on the stoop he sharpened his file
house with peeled paint
matched the neighborhood

across the street
a white haired elder
glanced out her window

dipping the wire brush
in a bucket on the step
he rasped the instrument

smiling wide he checked his reflection
then waved the tool
at the threadbare curtains

his head shot up and eyes narrowed
her gate alerted him
a neighbor's door opening sounded

he stood rapidly
eyes darting the street
feet finding the edge of the sidewalk

screams buried beneath the distressed lawns
he pressed the file into his cheek
grimacing when he saw the blood.