Weight of the Day
Glare, hot lights, relentless
groan of traffic, legless beggar
whose monotonous voice
pursues me down the street:
Señorita, por favor, señorita...
At breast level, two machine guns:
black eyes, deep and empty.
Everything is so clean!
No droppings, only a chirping
from the top of a tree.
From a distant street,
the dry plucking of a siren
trills our taut nerves.
Copyright © Mary Crow
—first published in Borders
BOA Editions, Ltd., 1989
Posted over on Mary Crow's Blog
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