I ride my bicycle down the empty
morning street, DiTullio’s selling his house
another is already contingent
the realtor sign in front of the Irma-flooded
house is now a dumpster titled
nature’s calling, the half-built house
rises to two peaks, a plywood bridge
between, suppose one’s for he
the other for she, or one’s for lowly beasts
taro fills the ditches, rose of sharon
lavenders a green fan, parked trailers
bear boats, a concrete pig wears
a blue mask, caution tape & orange cones
swag a muddy verge . . . pedal, pedal on
No comments:
Post a Comment