A green brick crushes Mt. Dew.
Splotches of yellow and orange drench
the sidewalks you drew on yesterday.
It washes away the chalk outlines in a
rainbow swirl that muddles into grey.
Your dog barks at the mail lady who always
comes prepared with a treat for you and
the dog. You both wag your tails at the gate.
She scratches behind your ear and asks the dog,
“How was school today?”
Aiko croaks out a response and you caw-caw the
mail lady away. She has things to do, you say.
Children rush down the street chasing the local
hearse with shoes on their faces. Souls tied
with their laces. Double knotted.
“We want the red casket!”
“How much for the blue?”
“I need to ask mom for some money. Will you wait?”
“The black one’s my favorite!”
Fifteen bucks, a short life and it’s yours.
The hearse drives away, blasting Beethoven’s
ninth symphony. The hoodrats roll down their
windows and nod their heads as they wave
their blood-stained hands. Good doing business
with you. The unspoken agreement.
The children scurry from the streets into the
shadows of the alleyways. Perching at doorsteps,
looking for milk left out for the strays. They fight
the cats for one sip then share the rest.
That’s enough for one day.