on finding an eviction notice

on finding an eviction notice

but we are young today,

my dear, so let us dance —

spinning to the sound

of neighbors shouting upstairs,

then pirouetting past

the pile of unpaid bills

that peer out smugly from

their plastic window sills

with urgent, time-stamped stares —

let's laugh a laugh that resounds

above the city sounds

of taxicabs that pinball

past in seedy streets

below, a laugh that drowns

the drone of evening news

evaporating through

the plastered walls too thin

to block the mumbles of

the neighbor's TV set:

the traffic's clogged again

on East Magnolia St —

and then let's sing, my dear,

let's sing the sort of song

that takes the smoggy rain

of weeping city skies

[drumming the window-unit

that hangs itself outside

like wire-dangled sneakers]

and turns it into tin-roof

rain on farmhouse nights,

a liquid lullaby

to hush our streetlight minds

and settle us both in sleep —

and when we wake with hair

turned grey, my love, when knees

that work are delicacies

we can no longer afford,

and our voices cannot sing

since our ears no longer hear

the soundtrack of the city —

when we cannot twirl and laugh

the way we did before,

careening past the empty

fridge in barefoot frolic —

I hope you'll come outside

to sit with me silence

up on the fire escape,

and I will bring you tea

with almond milk — the kind

with hint of hazelnut —

to sip while from above

we watch the youthful streets

go hustling on below —

but we are young today,

my dear, alone in a world

that makes no sense. Let's dance.



- published in Street Light Press