shade tree

the fridge is empty, the milkman stopped coming
and the condoms are expired
there are coffee lids under the barcalounger
the morning is a countinghouse that let its hair
fall down
get the tickets punched on the train back home
walk through loose cobblestones the bricklayers
left in a frown
she left in a tizzy, fit, a convulsion of rationality
stirred the soup to a simmer
packed her bible and camera
walked down the steps without a glimmer
she was heading west with all the rest
to pave the streets in oakbark and tinsel
loanshark and stencils of flowers in vases
and fourteen foot faces
she left me a carpet of porn rags and orange shag
i stomp through in sears hipwaders

it’s highwater on both coasts
i’m sitting in a shade tree