Ode to September
A chilly wind's white
mantra ray belly
curls across the blue sky,
if you're down
looking up.
A nearby ambulance displays white teeth
and bad disposition.
A volunteer fire alarm
suddenly ignites the sleepy neighborhood's
match head
then gradually burns down.
Crows leave hair-line cracks
in the overcast afternoon.
Their squawks crumble
around the filthy white porcelain feet
of my patio chair.
Alan Britt
Posted over on Spindrift
No comments:
Post a Comment