Winter envies Spring.
Hail beats the blossoms
off the plums. Pink petals
dot the pavement.
What it looks like when
you’re sprawled on the gravel:
all the trash looks monumental.
weed forests. bottle caps.
broken toys.
Looking through the window
at smoked chickens
hanging by their feet,
I see roses and dragons
across the street.
A chair sits in the empty lot
next to the crumbling shop
on Welcome Street.
Christmas decor hangs
on street light poles:
removal three weeks past due.
A sign warns that it is
unlawful to pass a school bus
stopped for children.
Across the road,
the sign I see,
says _HELL.
Guns and auto parts
buy, sell, trade, repair
or layaway. Bikes and ammo.
Daytime barflies catching
January sun against a wall.
The empty concrete reservoir
looks like a desert plain on Mars.
Some one has left a single
low top canvas tennis shoe.
When I sprawl on my belly,
the city disappears.
