it's tuesday morning,
and the air is damp with melting and acrid garbage fires
the smoke crawls into your throat and stays all day.
old women with bright scarves and bottle-cap glasses
shopping for their unsalted greens and propane,
schoolchildren snapped into the gilded framework of the city,
collections of bad canvases, soviet medals, dry samovars
yes, we're all of us waiting by roadsides.
No comments:
Post a Comment