Tuesday 107: Poem

Tech week

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWe believe that it would hurt
our ability to remember.
"Don't forget about me,"
it always seems to be saying.

A detective in the weeds, or stood
at the sink, snaking the drain
to move the mouth, while

we stand there in masks
and won't stand for it.
We describe snow falling.

"Don't forget about me," it says,
holding nothing.
Snow falls on the road.
Arctic air hammers
this corner of earth.
Snow falls on the pine ridge.

All this commotion
because you're drinking a soda by the window
with the heat on, a swollen river
cresting violets of sunset.

Leaves collect like a stomach ache
in the space between fences,
And we wait for the big freeze,
which nobody can stop,
a death knell for the creative industry.