Wind scuttles foam cups down the streets
Fluttering coat shouldered ghosts
Stepping quick, not shopping. Stopping
Only before paint shrouded doors.
No voices echo city canyons
Of multicolored grays smudged,
Brushed by eyes of artists
Eating death with ketchup sandwiches.
Knocking. Peepholes.
Air on staircases, stepping
Down
........down
................down
To breathe in watered basement walls.
Where are the caution words on
Pesticides?
Perhaps they are still in China...waste deep in a flood...you write so well it is hard to not tell the truth..iip..you are one of my five heroines here..thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem..well written...