Poem 4/10/15

I pan the skies to locate frogs
flying through the rebel cold
fronts. Skies tinged with patient
windsocks billowing north and
then to west. I watched acacias bloom
before an instant later eaten
like kids pull the buds from
broccoli, leaving naked stalks, but this
time with plastic bags and cloths
wrapped in the spiky branches as make-
shift catapults will fling that
house from 4th to 9th street.
The wipers fling away only
one second’s worth of meager tears.


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