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number 60
P O E T R Y by Joshua Robbins |
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| Wash n' Shop I'd like to say the scruffy anthem that a boy's rolled-up cuffs & scuffed sneakers sing to a waning Saturday moon & his midnight T.P.'ing of the neighborhood are, together, a kind of code-breaking, another tally slash in the column Unsuccessful Ciphers of the Outer World, but as the Wash n' Shop's double-stacked front loaders tumble & smack in long rows, neither I, nor his mother getting high in the ladies', could care less about the signified, or how vent steam, sweet-smelling & inconsequential, drifts upwards & becomes the sky. So, tonight, let there be breakage. Let the strip mall bar next door empty out & let the half-tanked stumble home. Let not one phrase of the turnpike's hum correspond. |