Islands in asphalt, tall grass hairs reaching
No sun today to warn them
One black crow a meager guardian.
Gutter shoals, nuts and bolts
detritus in every color of gray.
No hope for a picnic.
Three green doors, none of them leading home.
Opaque window only reflects back my face.
Fear rises inexplicable in my belly.
One black brushstroke over chipping paint chrysanthemums
burning orange where death used to be.
Garbage and fresh air vie for each nostril.
The grass grows greener over dogshit, clover.
I put my worn feet where children's used to be.
The tires, full of graffiti, hold me like my lover couldn’t.
too small to notice.
How best to describe the sky?