by LB Sedlacek

Blurry photos of galloping horses,
jumping logs, plowing meadows.
Dirt churned and stomachs gurgling,
the posters jiggle at the subway stop.
Fingerless gloves sold in dark
corners for pennies down, sometimes
dollars. Video cameras click
their lips. The lines join on the
subway map. Footing it used to be
a popular choice before the yellow
haze, the silver schoolgirl crushes.
Dusting planets is a worthy
occupation for burnt soup chefs,
clowns without pity. The bodies
jostle on the subway platform.
A Styrofoam cup flies above heads, lingers,
sizzles underneath the subway tracks.