"The Road to Bruckner Blvd."
The birch tree shivers and cramps.
The strong-arm snow seduces our narcolepsy.
The gravel and salt discipline the dozens and dozens.
The traffic jitters as I spend the day invoking.
The green duck Saab is a fist.
The unruly yellow line claims the Ritalin.
The next exit is Tremont.
The tree lot before the bridge.
The bombastic stop signs about-face.
The tires spin a smoker’s cough.
The high volume of wait time.
The sky meets the el train.
The number 6.
The vivacious backdoor pumps blue-light white.
The Jesus-loves-me people offer potatoes and coffee.
The vegetable lullaby.
The alibis sip Bustelo.
The street shudders.
© 2009 Brenda Morisse
Follow this link to comment
|
|
