the common depression

The girl across the way
likes to walk her dog down
into the common depression
that lies
between all of us.
Where floodwaters collect, so
they do not flood. And nobody
dies - ahead of their usual
course, at least. Exceptions
for crime and for accident.
It's safe down in there,
for walking a dog. No one goes down
in there with bad intent - it's too open
to view. Some kids cut across,
but no one's supposed to. Except
for the sandhill cranes,
who fly in
announcing approach
in staccato honks, just after
the rains have come and gone. So
they come and they go. The waters recede.
The cranes glide down
and with murderous beaks,
make feast of who knows
what burrowing creeps.
It's a quiet town.