Short prose poem.
|The curb calls for those who pass
with longing eyes of thrice-chewed
The lamp-post agonizes over loss,
over the drowning of the day
and the fear of the night.
The hydrant bursts a nut,
is removed, and never seen again.
The shadows of the second street watch on,
to the confusion of all,
and they don't say a word as the yellow hydrant
is removed from the scene.
The curb and the lamp-post weep heat and light,
but the shadows won't obey such orders.