Wade Square

a sapling, felled
by the rains
last night,
splayed out its
branches
from the rim
of the park to
the middle of the bike
lane.

the dog
sniffs
its limp leaves
as if it knows
time ends.

a summer afternoon

in the 7 train,
the lanky guy beside me
reeks of the same
bargain perfume
the ex once insisted
on wearing

at my stop,
the train door,
as it opens,
sucks
in a bald
dandelion clock.

those few times the world seemed right

the midday breeze napped
sweat rings spreading to my chest
senior high picnic
i was college bound
couldn’t wait to get out of this town
he had to stay for his mother
gripped my hand when
i talked about the university
palm trees still
something told me I just might
stay

sudden rain

the blue of the sky
seeps through the curtains.
the cat, big blob of grey
by the window, casts
a pink shadow.
the day is not wasted.