The City

Telephone wires set against the wizened trees and red

brick of unfinished city blocks.  Birds fall out

of bushes, onto frozen puddles, flapping their brown wings,

dusty with winter.  The asphalt plies through ice

at children’s feet, but cannot grip their soles.

* * * * *

A wind-snapped scarf tackles a trashcan spilling over

receipts and discarded fast food.  A cigarette scatters

ash as it tumbles, and a man chases it a few feet

before stopping, answering his phone—

a sparrow meekly twitters from a telephone pole.