Street Cleaners Poem by Michael William

Poison arrow night. Street cleaners
stalking through
the streets like runaway trains
with phantom drivers. Run-away
freights. Street cleaners
as dark as pine
in faded green jackets. Street cleaners
with long and bony arms, with long
and bony legs,
with short and bony smiles.

Poison arrow night. The Street
Cleaners are the only things moving.
Brush. Bag. Sweep.
Brush. Bag. Sweep.
Brush. Bag. Sweep.
There is nothing left of the day.

The Street Cleaners move.
Another breathing myth.
Another cosmic reminder of what's coming