on saturated park benches,
bums fall asleep, glacial rain
spills forth. birds over-head
pooping, dumps landing on
cold cement inebriated in the
fragrance of rainwater.
the world percolates to crow
radio clocks. half sleeping,
brushing teeth, flushing out
mouths with notched mugs.
a breakfast of blistered toast
and coffee.
curled drifts whirling in strip-
ped trees, snow garnishes
the blacktop slate. rumbling
plows pack it on the curbs-
ides. scrambling up and
down cracked and splint-
ered roads, flinging salt.
cats and dogs on roofs
baying at a flickering globe,
celestial clusters are lanterns
trailing the clouds. clanking
cars, a cradlesong clutching
travelers in muffled stupors.
Ash Slade lives in Wolcott, CT. In her spare time, she reads and write poetry and short stories.
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