what I see is dead umbrellas
skeletons lying on the streets
no traces of the fabric that once stood
between rain and being
the sky is plumber gray
roads are empty
looted malls in a take-it-all spree
by spirits riding cinnamon buses
what I see is the outcome of a plague
a deadly virus, heavy weather
and Miley Cirus, half naked
a storm of epic proportions
the ultimate open-zipper policy
vague notions of a nation's
leftovers, cranks and cramps,
marauding bodies seeking prey
eleanor day (Tacoma, WA, 1979)
