21st ave octet

(2/1/17)

two flower pots glazed ultramarine on a

porch table, plants withered, drooping, nameless now—

six cherry trees sleep black by the curb; through blinds:

table lamps, upholstery, life’s evidence,

while leaves, so many small brown hands, scrape

concrete, caught in gusts promising only ice—

arrows spray painted white on that sidewalk:

equal sign sprayed orange on adjacent grass  

Jack Hayes

© 2017