you got to sing,
he whistled.
kiss the sunkist cement
come spring, he hummed.
When the hell everything get
so bright, he blinks.
so bright, such bold
minor chord
lamentations...
Remember?
When sweet trouble stuck to your boot,
gathered hard
and cracked
underfoot
on ashen pavement?
The signs are buckshot and conflict:
tea leaves & hard candy
shards
politely insist:
Songs were hopeful
then. men
who fit in
were recognized
when they arrived.
Music and food and your neighbors,
nothing was foreign to him.
People he never imagined:
strangers, demanding,
amplified tragedies, erect
flagpoles shrinking in the
ever-expanding radius.
Decisions pressing
flesh,
baring teeth,
smiling.
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