blackbirdonline journalSpring 2009  Vol. 8  No. 1
print version


My City

It’s drippy here, and the crows are mean. 
They zero in on loose threads, snatch
babies right out of mothers’ hands.
Swoop and snatch, just like that. 

People here are falling badly in the streets. 
They don’t understand that falling is an art
you can never get better at. They turn
inside-out, though none are reversible. 

Me, I’d rather hold a fish to my brow
for a little relief and do a proper fall
that bruises the sky’s knees or switch
the lights on in the glass room and yell

Dance, motherfuckers, dance! Instead,
the mayor tells people to just hold tight
and most of them do. In this city, only
the really bad ones glow in the dark.