2 Poems

O Sister We’re Not Suburban

I changed the name of that street and black-clothed the lights at the intersection You must peer through open pockets and nudge and nudge the family (we’re all guilty culture gleaners) How hard is it to get to the other side? This gauntlet is a wormbath for the bored and incessant I know there’s a spare flashlight in the garage But where is Nusrat or the holy swell? Quick Slip of Candor it might have been stockdust or the drory embel danger it was a satin coathanger in cottonball burnish it wasn’t a waste of time— your soft face smiles we render the ammunition ranch feather glossy summer syrup

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