I set the dial for nineteen eighty-

something; summer; my own sun-baked front yard. 

Park in house-shadow, cricket-din, amongst 

the “wheat” and Queen Anne’s lace back there, sneak in

the house, up the stairs; from Tom’s bed (Tom’s bed;

taboo even now [then]), watch my old self 

watching for my older sister’s school (late

summer? early?) bus to heave its folding 

door and drop her off, through the pine tree V. 

And that's it. I sneak out of the window

(like i always wish i had [now(then)]), set

the dial for today, dinnertime-ish, 

return to find the house dark, the table 

cleared apart from one foil-covered dish.