Sat still his whole life…
at the last second–one arm
closer to the stars
☯︎
Marchers gone home…
I watch steady storm spatter
take the concrete
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
they pull down their masks
to talk over the dog
☯︎
Beard to his belt
and one black boot halfway
onto the bus
☯︎
Autumn of the heart…
if we’re all dead, who takes stock
of the curled leaves?
☯︎
Lightbulb not like dawn,
He leaves Him to zip up…
grit on both boots
☯︎
Hardly the Fourth,
but bombs boom and sparks
skitter on sidewalk
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
the wind turns a book’s pages,
Broadway concrete
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
dog hunches and runs
like a fugitive
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague
a bottle breaks loose on the bus…
rolls where it will
☯︎
The General sleeps
patio awning rolled back,
courting sunburn
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
the rocking orange tent gives way–
a black child, black braids
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
I wait to see if the mask
drops past his nostrils
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
rapper holds phone to one ear
for his backing track
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
the train knows the lake route–
I don’t
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague,
the train’s air-conditioned, but…
her Japanese fan
☯︎
“I’ve got appointments…
four doctors in the next month–
how behind I am!”
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
the crows–so saucy these days!
dive straight down
☯︎
Tenth week of the plague…
barbershop child screams
like steel on marble
☯︎
