Hanging in the closets
of childhood
were secrets
followed by
embarrassments,
and small hand guns,
bluejays
of injustice
cocked
against cool darkness.
And just below the sweatshirt
not worn
in weeks,
slept
the pearl-handled
egalitarian life
you were promised.
As anxiety
carved your
adolescent
grief,
each dawn
you arose
an outcast Phoenix
from the ashes
of your dreams.
Maple leaves tap rain gutters.
A tractor-trailer
pants
in a diner parking lot.
A tomcat removes
his bloody bandage.
A robin abruptly chirps and whistles
in the middle
of a carnal dream.
Eighteen seconds later
a train honks.
Crickets
form a revolutionary congress
below forsythia,
faded shingles,
and a 1920’s streetlamp
leaning against a sulfur breeze
whose kisses of fireflies
have only hours
to survive.
Miles away the chemical train
moans like a cow.
