SPIRITS SHAPED LIKE PAPER BAGS
I’m afraid when the wind blows,
and children jump over debris.
Hats visit other planets.
Mirrors
and glass pears
voice their final wishes.
I’m afraid when the mayor’s wife
taps her Ouija Board
as if spirits
shaped like plastic bags
might want to whisk her off
to Chicago,
as if no wish is final,
no world safe enough.
THEME PARK
I feed pigeons in Tomorrow
Land,
and I’m asked to relocate
by a “cast member”
who claims it breaks the mood.
The future is a feeling
doled from chromed dispensers.
I fear my brown shoes
will be taken
from me.
SWEE’PEA
I’ll eventually just refer
to everyone as “Swee’Pea,”
even myself.
I’ll call all liquids “thinner.”
As I wait for times
of indiscretion and lesser
scrutiny,
I’ll call anything that toots
its own horn a singer
of love songs.