a wheeled wire basket
is a mobile home
equipped with accessories
and flotsam:
plastic shopping bags
the names of supermarkets
printed on the wadded clumps
pinned against
the chrome plated wire.
a faded baby stroller
bent wheeled,
scraps of cardboard
a deflated red balloon
hanging from a string
plastic knives and
forks: the kitchen.
a shattered boombox is
the home entertainment center
and for this high tech age
a keyboard missing the escape key.
yesterday's newspapers
for tonight's insulation
with headlines that scream
about rockets that rain
on apartments and bridges
or lift white-suited men
into orbit.
and by the way,
new commute lanes
are coming and there are
lots of important things
having to do with guys
kicking or hitting balls.
in one corner
the scrap of a flyer
printed on pink paper
peeks out and says
in big rainbow letters:
kiss away cancer.
sure. i'd be glad to.
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