2 PoemsO Sister We’re Not Suburban
I changed the name of that street
and black-clothed the lights at the intersectionYou
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 incessantI know there’s
a spare
flashlight in the garageBut where is Nusrat or the holy
Quick Slip of Candor
swell?
it might have been stockdust or
the drory embel dangerit was a satin coathanger
in cottonball burnishit wasn’t a waste of time—
your soft face smileswe render the ammunition ranch feather
glossy summer syrup