17 Rebeccas Crossing The Street Against The Light
The cappuccino wasn’t foamy enough and
had to be sent back
The cheese had not been melted properly on the panini
and so they were not going to pay full price thank you
The cars were approaching at a reasonable speed and
they were nowhere near a crosswalk but
sometimes you can’t wait
There are clothes to return and
servers who don’t smile enough and
why would anyone even wear those shoes out of the
I know, right
Where is the fleet of pink Cadillacs with box plows
to clean this refuse from the street?
Where are the ancestors of the coyotes killed for their trendy winter parkas
blood hungry and beautiful?
the plucked geese
(who, themselves, are entitled assholes)
hissing and cold so their coats could be warm?
Where are their parents who still pay their bills
because the twenty-first century is too expensive for anyone under fifty
whose parents are still alive?
Where is my humanity in all of this?
Has it refused to pay the full price of respect for someone else’s individuality
because a few of their behaviors haven’t set properly?
Is it wearing a parka made of teeth with bleach blonde trim?
Is it running into traffic to tell the world how important it is?
What Is This All About?
This page is where the content from previous poetry blogs have been condensed. It's not on the menu, since most of these projects are over, or on hiatus, but the posts are still here to peruse.