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the crawl of injured crows.
the burns in the yard, strewn cigarettes.
the jackhammer clang.
the clipboard girl’s ponytail.
the three cop cars by the north entrance.
the maple bar scent, wafting.
the laughing men throw back their heads.
the laughing women hold their stomachs.
the sun, breaking over the bbq stand.
the sun, breaking over the cheap seafood kiosk.
the sun, breaking over the apartments on the lake.
the rain, breaking the sun.
the crowd, gathered by the corner,
waiting for a light, or a bus, or a man in a car,
or a woman in heels, grows and shrinks,
but never disappears.
the mothers who panic at the mere existence of this corner
and the lazy mornings, coming off nights that never ended.
the street that curves into the city limits.
the hills everyone trying to reclaim.
the hoarse bark of rottweilers, behind chainlink, roped to stakes in a muddy yard.
