G r e t a   I g l 

May Day

On the first warm Sunday in May, nearly everyone on the circle emerges to enjoy the sunshine. Two girls ride one bike, the little one pumping wiry legs, handlebars teetering, while the thick girl perches on the seat and lets her legs swing. Two old men in baseball caps discuss whether they should do something about the sparse patch in the hedge between their lawns. A knot of middle school girls, hands on hips and chins thrust, twist the toes of their flip-flops into the pavement while, nearby, a high school sophomore polishes around the rust hole on his first car. Mothers open front doors to call scattered children. Fathers cut tidy swaths in thick pelted lawns. Pale legs unveil themselves, as vulnerable as swan’s throats. A cat drowses on the stoop of a blue house, a warm breeze tugging at winter’s dull coat. In a dank garage, a bachelor with sunken eyes adjusts the carburetor on his motorcycle. The engine sputters and spits gray exhaust into the shadows.