A Language of Afternoon

It is 3:24 on Tuesday and jerks

split jargoned caution lines-

KEEP OUT bifurcated

round the pillars of Norris Street.

Nippon Society barley tea,

napkin baskets, pastry crumbs,

cling wrap muffin tins, gutter bungalows

where the leaves lay thick and wet.

I pass skin bared to blocks,

skin stacked to sun,

pixilated world and vendors

hawking funnel cakes, confectioner’s madness

on lapels, elbows, mouths I

donate to the Red Cross Fund.

Watch the drunkards where they shouldn’t be.

Remember bratwurst and prisms,

ferris wheel by the phallic Scott

Monument and optical projections

glazing a woman on George Street.