FOUR GEOGRAPHERS FIND THE QUINTESSENTIAL BALTIMORE ROWHOUSE

There were painted screens,
two up, one down,
each  with a quiet country scene
of trees, stream, and deer,
from which to look out
onto the concrete and asphalt.
And formstone, of course

(the polyester of brick, as John Waters put it),

because even fake stone is classier
than the porous brick that sweats and weeps
behind so many Baltimore façades.
A ceramic cat clung motionless

between the two upper windows,

as if uncertain to which screen to leap,
and which deer might make a better meal.
And, there was an old woman

who came out onto her proud marble steps,
imperious in her floral house dress,

and asked “Why are you taking pitchers of my house, hon?

It’s my neighbors who’ve been causing problems.”