The Scheme of Things

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The Scheme of Things

The stench of headless chickens from the plant
on Broad St., and on the other side
a yellow claw is digging out a hill
that never asked for it.
                                   But still, 
she told me I looked nice today, 
my favorite cashmere layered
on top a checkered shirt, my navy tie.

Sweat-grey sky sits heavy, wet, like I 
am stuck beneath a load of dirty laundry, 
and paired with poultry corpses it 
is difficult to breathe.
                                   But still, 
the radio is saying that a girl
and her dad were rescued in 
the nick of time while hiking on 
the Appalachian trail, 

“nd police, along with medical personnel,
are saying they will likely be alright.



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