Snails, it's my afternoon.
I rode the weathered train home
blossoms passing, the sound orange color,
a school of orchards, a riot of children
giggling in the choral breeze
grasping bars
A never ending game of basketball
they get younger by the hour
the pucker-marked vibration of a leafblower
and more dripping cracks

(I'm indoors now.)
I hear the wrecked roll
fantastic raucous in the kitchen,
the snatch motorcycle heave in the alley,
the licking bliss honey twisted wonton pleading
"Take me now"

I'm at the door
posting an unflowered sign
stating, "Beware, pissed women with guns"
now I wait. For the gay man to
finish his sushi buffet and call
(he's supposed to have news.)

I walked home in darkness
one ass-kicking boot in front of the other
rattling bricks under foot
singing "sigh no more, ladies"
men were deceivers ever

a blowing grate on the corner
(I'm glad I'm not wearing a dress)
the anonymous hollow buzz, cars pass
a sweet drink of puddle
three snails sifting the burgeoning sidewalk
I step around. Kisses to my sweet friends
the night river, the unblistered perfect smile
vodka for the soul (why do I fall in love?)
the sliding door screen left open
and yellow, yellow, lots of it
all over the corded room