Escape
to the river
in an old blue canoe,
paddles the color of mayfly
dusk swarms.

broken
bottles debris
from exploded M-80s
proof the only real hero is
the earth

Hiss. Bang. Flash. Toxic
residue especially from the color
green. Don’t blame the dogs
for running away.

Another night
of thunder and lightning
without rain.
Where’s my thundershirt?

Cherry bombs in the alley.
M-80s down the subway stairs.
What are we celebrating?
Freedom. Boredom. Gunpowder. Really?

The sky needs no adornment.
The earth, no more wounds.

We are
all one system.
Boating season roars on.
Extirpated fishes. Wake word:
water.

Yay for
junk DNA,
the fetal position,
bodysuits, banana seats in
2D.

Nowhere
to go with this
moment, I ache to walk
city streets, to wander in the
wonder.

40
years ago. Was
I asking for it? Why
I hate jazz, not the music. Damn
white boy.

We were three
sisters in boredom
searching for something/anything

to break the monotony
of an unholy Saturday night,
the one before Easter morning.

We were three students,
running 10 years too late
to be cool. Ready

to risk freezing,
we were three fabric shedders,
dashing through the science library.

We were three distractions
for pre-meds desperate to see beyond
endless pages of MCAT practice tests.

We were three marchers,
who slipped, one by one,
down the aisle, passed front and center,

as everyone in the audience watched
Elvis and his jailhouse rockers
on the big screen.

We would have to wait
5 more years for Public Enemy
to call him out.

Applause filled the auditorium
by the time I brought up the rear
in a pair of red socks.

Did we own
“too shy to streak” underwear?
We’ll never tell.

We were three:

Clotho spinning,
Lachesis measuring,
Atropos cutting the thread.

We were three
sisters, ready
to determine our own fates.

summer
comes out shooting
astronomical OR
meteorological NOT
unreal

and now
the kitchen sink
tossed behind a dumpster
becomes everything she cannot
ignore