A shock of white like a
freshly painted wall in a
bad neighborhood.
Stuck in the muck of a
brown bank of mud,
the underbelly of a virgin.
With a blown-back mohawk, a
bed-headed birdbrain with a gold star
swiggle-wiggle underfoot.
Found frozen near the
glistening movements of polka-dots
in otherwise stillness.
Slender green stalks, electrocuted
by a neon lime charge.
A colander to airborne debris.
Weightless plastic, a foreigner
held hostage by a breeze.
They need saving—if only I could.
A lazy droning sound echoes “ouch”
on the round, longing for attention that
is deserved at that age.
The distant loop plays a tolerated rhythm
underneath shards of glass,
which scrape my ears from inside
while it rolls from the belt and
drops into piles of re-use.
It’s wonderful what you did with this and always timely. Nicely done.