on the side of 32nd Street
a sign reads:
all is cyclical
above a Circle K
the night sky lights up,
an American Nagasaki
Ballard sits at the curb, nonplussed,
the homeless dog
bumming cigarettes
says we treasure corrupt
versions of ourselves,
a broken record that one
Wednesday, 11 o’clock,
any number of illusions,
but, mostly, gumption and wile
keith anthony francese
9.19.2014
* This poem first appeared in Canyon Voices. 2015.
