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Adam Deutsch

The Thing Is

 

 

The tile scraps wouldn’t work

in a mosaic. It’s all too white,

 

chipped, trimmed and shattering,

a horrible series of accidents

 

commonly found below street level.

Pedestrians only feel it for a second

 

but know something’s happened

that’ll take time and a new skill to repair.

 

The sponge soaks water from the grout

for six days. It smells like mayonnaise

 

knifed on wonder bread. I guess this thin thing

is a sandwich, if that’s what you call it.

 


 Alternate Side Street Cleaning

 

 

The balcony spiders raze

their own webs at daybreak.

Humming birds competitively hunt

for sugar waters, and the crows

sing back the cars’ alarms,

the engining sirens,

 

the opening lilies my love

places beside the slid glass.

These calls reach me,

 

all the way to the curb,

steering to a free space

out front. We’re dancing.

 

Though the neighbors

witness it all, and rage

their windows shut,

We’re getting somewhere.

We’re dancing.

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