July 16, 2023Cluster Bombs Have a Quirk
The collection doesn’t explode
All at once: some bomblets
Lurk and layer
Cyanide on grief
First my 1996 Hyundai was snagged
Then my routine tension set in—
Of stretching the dollar like a snake’s jaw
Till the next pay check
My six-year-old hiccupped his snotty life
Through his heaving T-shirt
His best friend had found a new best friend
At Lexington Center I waited for the walk sign
When the sign blinked I did too
Rooted I heard the traffic roar
And the water table of my eyes
Vaguely saw a stranger
Who walked past and then came back—
“May I give you a hug?”
I nodded and he gave—
A tourniquet for my disturbed mind
An eye for the walk-sign
from Poets Repond