Huron Cemetery Poems (III)

April 23, 2018


White woman walks by in a Wu-Tang shirt
White feather waits above a grave unknown

An ant crawls up my pant leg, looking for life.
Tree bark is an ancient remedy for an aching back.
An alarm is sounding and a mangy squirrel
          rears up on hind legs
          in a curious challenge to some intuited superiority
          before scurrying up a favorite trunk to bark at me
          from a place of perceived safety.
More sirens sound
          on 7th and Minnesota.
The squirrel forgets that many men hurl rocks and words to
maintain a silent world.

An ambulance arrives at the library.
The sirens wind down.
The squirrel gives me the finger and lights a cigarette.
I can see Missouri from here.
And I can read between these tombstones’ lines.

Huron Cemetery Poems (III)

Sock it to me

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