1802

When I step out of the camera bag
It's glowing blue on the midden
And quiet neighborhoods have produced
More shimmering niceties than
The headache farm you call your art.
Still, I will lift my zap-rayed self
Up alongside you on the bleachers
To wait through the whistling,
The coughing of shovels, the warm days
The season spreading visibly this way
Leaks occasionally, like bubbles.