once again we wonder
alone in our room or in conversations in cafes
when will they come
no need to ask how will it start
the scrawled graffiti the placards the threats the chants
the message no longer makes distinction
the world remembers terrifying lessons
watches as some of us pays no heed
the weight of history falls as a jackboot to our heart
when all burns and disappears, where will the diaspora land
on the block where the pigeon died
an irregular bloody smear with a few dirty feathers
all that remained of the unnoticed bird
yet people remembered something
and in the way of the street
turned this into a different reliquary
dropped bitter regrets, each burning a different pattern
cried briny tears, each etching it’s own trace
sprinkled secret joys, each sticking like shiny glitter
soon the pavement was transformed
became an altar to chaotic resilience
and for a moment the clickety-clack of the weaving paused
and the weaver smiled a wolfish grin
streets were clean and safe
likewise clubs and even the drugs
rainbows glittered more brightly
enjoy your favorite oldies station
your prints of common museum pieces
your sanitized fantasy past
I’ll inhabit this grimy present moment
touch the hands of those who are also here
dance to whatever music they are making
watch for art wherever I happen to be
drop poems on random sidewalks
It’s a hot boy summer haute boi summer
many are doing a thing have done a thing things are getting done
boys and bois doing them and getting done
xyz is hiring firing laying off have you heard leaving the area
everyone is worried relieved going to the island
light rail is great overcrowded geez down for the morning
did you see the bikes with dykes you know the lesbian ones
do we call the police if we think that guy on the corner is dead
if you were here
we would live in a building with black stone walls
to highlight your beauty when we went for a walk
the sun would catch the dark mischief of your eyes
the eager joy of your delight
people would see first the impossible shadow
thrown against the outer surface
elongated to make you even more elegant and sleek
then their eyes would find you
they would bow and present their hearts
lay them at your feet
you would smile graciously then dance away
we would continue on our way
the buildings above us lit up
glowing like an ambiguous signal a colorful beacon
that showed just where we are
music insistent as a celebratory warning
beneath the beat we gathered
this year like every year but especially this year
it felt existential
even though it was not a farmers market day
and those days have been the days
I see you everywhere beautiful haunt
the bits of my heart that fell in tears
glittered with such bright shining love
that people placed them as jewels
in each other’s hair and clothing
I heard you laugh and there you were
disappearing just past the color’s fade
once again the sky clouded over and I find myself
bent under the hot metal hood of a broken down truck
changing the oil for the second time today
just to get home from the waster job
the only one available in this broken down town
we had a Main Street filled with stores once
with factories and shipyards near the river
but that was before I was born when gas stations sold gas
not a little bit of everything including sex, salts, and lottery tickets
I’ve seen some faded photographs but they’re ragged and torn
things were bad back then for most the same as now I suspect
it sounds better but doesn’t it always
ain’t no back in the day for me or anyone like me
the day is just the day is just a day
another summer and again familiar
the heat the sun the wind the endless sky
will this one differ from the last or the one before
or the earliest ones we knew when we were so young
these will mark this season in this time and place
holding it pinned like an insect caught just so
the large smile of a street dog as I pour water into her bowl
a woman in a full black evening gown gliding on a scooter
Mount Rainier half-hidden in the evening haze
a man playing a violin under the canopied shelter of the trees
as for you, you must find your own ways
delineate your own your time I cannot do it for you
not good at standing casually with a glass
filled with melted cold side stares
bubbly remarks now falling flat
and the requisite dash of acerbic bitters
hand me this and I get the urge
to throw the contents into the nearest smirk
to justify some stereotype (being from the South)
I always show with my iconic flask of hot tea
for the safety of all concerned
