Dead End Job
The garbage collector leans out the side of the truck
to take a picture of a rainbow arched over a construction site
Yellow lichen on the vaulted roof
brighter than the paint below of the corner store
The cop fixes her blond bun in the reflection of the pizzeria window
mockingly to make the other cops laugh
Overnight the wind detached framed pictures I never noticed
at the top of the farm’s washing station
I find the broken glass and spend
all morning sweeping the irregular triangles
The neighbor comes asking if I’ve seen her cat Jerrold
as she often does, and though I haven’t seen him today
she has found him every day before
The man does donuts in the traffic intersection adding suspension
until, without collision, he speeds off
Months ago, as I counted 13 bundles of nasturtium
to pad the produce boxes, an egret flew overhead
and so my boss had something sly to say
about her mother’s premonition and my future
Years ago, every Tuesday, I picked up donated beer grain
in the food bank dump truck
I wanted to answer anyone who asked how I was
with the process, attaching
the crane hooks to the lip of the barrel
The impulse is gone, and someday the impulse
to remember the egret will be too
to take a picture of a rainbow arched over a construction site
Yellow lichen on the vaulted roof
brighter than the paint below of the corner store
The cop fixes her blond bun in the reflection of the pizzeria window
mockingly to make the other cops laugh
Overnight the wind detached framed pictures I never noticed
at the top of the farm’s washing station
I find the broken glass and spend
all morning sweeping the irregular triangles
The neighbor comes asking if I’ve seen her cat Jerrold
as she often does, and though I haven’t seen him today
she has found him every day before
The man does donuts in the traffic intersection adding suspension
until, without collision, he speeds off
Months ago, as I counted 13 bundles of nasturtium
to pad the produce boxes, an egret flew overhead
and so my boss had something sly to say
about her mother’s premonition and my future
Years ago, every Tuesday, I picked up donated beer grain
in the food bank dump truck
I wanted to answer anyone who asked how I was
with the process, attaching
the crane hooks to the lip of the barrel
The impulse is gone, and someday the impulse
to remember the egret will be too