wieldy

SHED

by Kenneth Pobo

 



I stand between Annette's



and Mike's houses. She yells



 



over the fence, "You think



I can't see those fires you set



in your basement? HA!"



and slams her door. Mike



fires back, "Shut up, bitch,



who listens to you?"



and slams the door. I want



 



to make peace. Starlings



and morning doves often



share my roof. A maple leaf



eats lunch with an oak leaf. 



 



When Annette and Mike volley



insults, my wood aches—



 



nothing to do but hear



words fly. A mower



weeps inside me.

pass'd

by Bill Allegrezza

 



late cities—the hours that move



I cannot explain to you



though space is time in crosses



before speakers who slide on poles



near concrete scored for motion



 



fires                        before



            water tracing a number 



            a car turns



and direction is reversed



 



"i never heard homer sing over dinner"



 



actions end quickly



though no towers fall and ice covers burned out buildings



no one remembers now



 



rocks surround a tree       (birds dive)



 



at bottom ancient libraries rest



covered in silt and wreckage



new sapphos to be revived



 



"a final answer under a starry sky



never came"



 



i am not leading you to a dinner table



but welcome you the same.