Such lights as these rust colored street
lights on 34th street swaths of it cast
groundward in wide cones barely catch
the spectral glint deep within the cracked
open sidewalks and walk/slant, pitch
me forward, feet.
Most likely, the flavor be sweet
beyond all horizons, across the lines
of their edges, but at once imagined
from our home, ramshackle window tremble
shake is the mainstay, for now. Change
waits to spring out there in solemn dark
empty garages out from behind front
picture window TV flashes as hosts of
skulls are glued to fishbowl or lava
screen television.
Thank God I’m the architect of
our own route of escape. Thank God
I walk whole and unbowed. Consider
the chicken coop on 33rd and California
clucking, giving eggs, pecking at the
ground all within the heart of this
river city, train town bustle big Omaha
where a foot was planted down on
the flat prairie and dissolved as the
old building plaques blackened
and their prophetic words faded
away
forever.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
(November 6th, 2013)
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