Steve Langan
Three oak trees
then the big one was removed
by the City.
To the soil IÕm back
training for the race.
Chain link extravagance
surrounds the oaks—
or are they untouched
by the history of our street?
With her one good eye
mother was always first
to notice the rare finds.
ÒGive yourself a big hug,
Marcus,Ó she would say.
We were embarrassed,
downright mortified.
One day these people
from the State arrived—
forget about that.
Convinced I was destined
for greatness and love,
I didnÕt die in the gravel.
I tried not to harm anyone.
Vial broken inside the brain, ahem.
Slipshod, unrevealing powder.
Nevertheless, all my joints ache.
You donÕt need a license to see.
What kind of elegant branding?
Inefficient reckoning guides them.
All around us, the wires, flaming.
The windowsills, amen, are trained.
Tell me again about its plumage.
Remind me of the Òsatisfactory
reenlistment peekaboo game.Ó
Via wilting lettuce leaves ascend.
Yellow-hued blunderers responded.
The voyage to the next station.
You cannot beat salvation.
No, you simply shouldnÕt miss it.