May 1

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poetry

At the laundermat
police up the street

corraled bikes
like spilt jacks

across Pike street
mostly quiet for now

the insustrial
-sized drier

cranks on and off
gas-powered

round-doored
highest capacity.

All day helicopters
in droning flight

half fly, half
vulture

it keeps coming
back to mouths

to feed, inches
given and miles

of streets,
some feet,

some footnotes, people
don’t realize, you know, if

you think about it,
why?

a quote,
lamentably,

and a false entreaty.
Papered windows

just in case.
We put the quarter

in the slot, and
another, and another.

In every thing, a hunger.
The dryer kicks

on again, the mass
of sheets comes undone,

and in this tree
a robin sings

in a spray of
new buds and leaves

and in that other
world it’s spring

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