Thursday, February 9, 2017

21st ave octet


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

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