'Welcome home' are the words that Theresa mumbled to the 
room. No one heard, and her statement, it echoed into the 
vacuum. T-shirts heard her sigh, folded, barely dry on 
the hamper. A dinner bell, she wished one would just 
ring. It would not be too soon. 'Cause she's sick of 
these bagels and pesto even though she gets these things 
for free. Her recipes are those that the rest know and 
she has not the drive to bother with such anonymity. On 
the phone is a stately double-ringing. Someone must have 
called. When she checks she finds naught but 
advertisement  it was no one at all. They're 'in her 
neighborhood now' installing dishes on the roofs, but 
just then all she wanted was a friend, a soft place she 
could fall. And she knows it's too late to run over, 
'cause their linked arms are now cemented strong in this 
extended game of Red Rover in the green grass where 
fences force elipsis on the lawn.