The porch light stays on
The bulb was out for a week. I changed it after dark and stood on the step until the moths arrived.
A small log of rooms, roads, and things that got fixed.
A paper map in the glove box
The fold is worn through at the city. I still keep it, because the screen in the car goes blank in the garage.
Soup for one pot
Onion, potato, whatever was soft in the drawer. It needed salt at the end and nothing else.
The mailbox sticks
The door scrapes on the left. A postcard from June was still inside, bent at the corner.
Out before the traffic
The street was empty enough to hear my own steps. By the bakery the light was already on.