Playground, Cold Afternoonby Sean Singer
Mary, Martha, Maya, Alex.
Notice the cowrie shell cloud
Opening its blowhole among the twigs.
Branch abound and listless girls swing.
A nettle is tied to the sky’s grey carpet.
Someone carries a blue umbrella, a waltz…
Apple basket, and all that blows away.
Remain, Rather, Ray, Wax.
We are the devoured moment.
A spigot rushes out and dials on.
The semicolon, dash, and colon:
The cilantro, mint, and parsley of punctuation.
Drain, Lather, Stay, Match.
Sing a lullaby, a hugabye to the sky.
100 acres glow like green typewriters.
Imagine what she feels
Hunted by ghosts
Her pockets holed by a wind.