








the faint line of cheeks
his giggle drifts through the screen
cartoons at mom’s house







if i could cup the face of the street
into my small dry hand
i would kiss her and lull her to rest
i would hum a tune about an old song
that sang about peaches and trees
so tired and awake are her embankments
littered with the scoff of the world
but instead i would tell her of pink snapdragons hula dancing in the mist
instead i cup my own face like a child after a crying attack
my ears stretch for a hum the sound of my mom or at least one lone derelict cricket
cyber Monday tired long drive
random Target children crying wanting
mothers sighing fathers walking behind
cops strolling looking for something
not in particular looking plain
inside partly broken hard times
we all stare out far
our thoughts hidden polite smiles
riddled with worries this that
crimes in our head saddened
skies blue clouds fluffy right
still deepening in the heart
a desire to be upright
while looking inside of grief
snow is fake elves shelved
Palestine hurts Israel bleeds here
America sinks as she steps
on heads backs shoulders hands
the people we hang dangling
Betty Crocker’s ads cannot repair
the damage of those here
walking shopping pretending most wonderfully
to be free to do
to love to speak openly
but we’re not just drowning
underneath raging mad correspondents with
all the lies that linger
here at a random Target
on cyber Monday we are




