A tiny, abandoned concrete building
with a graffiti enhanced green door
and two-tier roof

leans over the west lane
of Kenwood Parkway
as it gradually winds up hill.

Runners, cyclists, pedestrians
know it. She’s one of them.
She’s never questioned its existence

before now. What purpose did it serve?
She’s drawn to its current lack
of utility—the faded forest

green trim on the windows
and eaves, ivy growing wild
on its facade. Google’s no help.

If she posts a photo
on social media, will anyone
claim it? Could she live inside?

How can she be linear
when she can’t draw a straight line?

The Loring Park ducks keep laughing.
She whispers “central reservation,”
knowing it’s the wrong vernacular.