Sunday, April 26, 2020

cold drizzle sunday six days south of may


steady like a couple mourning doves
honest before the wake
puddles and overflowing bird baths shiver
     beyond
the forest is starting to fill in
     no guarantee for the self-righteous

the avenue stays empty
between rain drops
camus would wear a trench coat
turn up his gray collar

the pizza joint on woods run
stays shuttered
acid gray creeps up from the river
cold steel hangs like a sky hook
your tongue sings through the railroad trestle
     rust & all

pundits get ready to cash in their words

the hospital keeps humming
steam for the autoclave

--- e b bortz

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