side 1

pigeons are gray doves adoring statues, sidewalks, steam vents

When a weatherman speaks

people sometimes listen. At the church

turned concert hall the sign said
no flash photography, no recording devices

but she snuck in a microphone for Jenny anyway,
that distinct possibility of rain

not even an option in her eyes
blue with wisps of cloud grey,

today could be perfect.

a vist, a walk, a history lesson

warmups & fabric wraps to keep out the wind off the river of ice lined with unnamed statues, so that we all can be a preacher or puritan if we want, or maybe no one remembers the names of those people anymore, they are locked away in archives & literature tests, street-names & the foundations of churches & squares easy pairs like mittens or socks that match, wrap & hold together feedback upon themselves crystalizing at the right temperature to hold time.

(retelling) hit and run

It wasn’t snowing but it certainly was grey
the way in which concrete reflecting off
concrete reflecting off steel can be &
my knee shot out--a bruise that shook through
The frame of a 70’s Schwin--limping not walking
gasping not breathing
after the accident.

911 took 40 minutes to come &
I wanted to ride in the back of the police car--
child locks and metal
mesh gratings a clear division of
power-- but the police are not a
public taxi service, even for those
with hit & run

busted bike wheels.