lunch poem

it is raining
the air is simple

umbrellas complicate
the sidewalks
under the scaffolding

lunches walk out of evry other doorway
in the form of soon-to-be-slippery scowls

raised collars and crumpled umbrellas
dodge shifty horns
placate reverse beacons
and airbrakes

construction shakes its fist
bricks double as ropeswings
and sewergrates are tempered




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