Sheepish man standing vertical in
the rain; frog’s legs frying-up nicely
in a greased iron skillet – no longer
needed in the Amazon Forest.
Some kind of solitude is being
measured out in a city cab as his
fare OD’s in the back – suicide
jumper hits the windshield.
Passerby’s walking in slow motion
Insensitive to the predicaments that
are unfolding like the plot in a five
and dime store mystery novel.
Childlike Salvation Army person
rings the bell as the rain accounts
for most of the kettle’s profits; she’s
too busy being innocent; gets mugged.
Jack knife from a sweaty hand tossed
into a dead-end dumpster - leaves the
victim as they allegedly bleed to death
Just another name in the Time’s obits.
A cold, lonely homeless man ‘third rails’
his life – family, work, country all turned
their backs; inside his overcoat, love
letters, like him, go to the afterlife.
Dirty cops who couldn’t wash their
hands fast enough stand before an
Internal Affairs tribunal – who, what
why, where, when, and how leeched out.
Two-bit whores with painted faces
moonwalk on the sidewalk – like to
rock and roll until they do the dead
man’s float in the river at age 14.
The day ends, all the city’s inhabitants
head for the building that has a 13th floor
Line forms to the leftist – elevator operator
“Keep your bodies inside, just want your souls.”