Monday, April 25, 2011

There might have been crickets somewhere...


Leaves rustling,
air conditioning systems
on bright, empty buses.
two-door hatchbacks with
broken mufflers, a hazy
humidity-ring around the moon.
Sitting on cement benches
in the shadows of a Gothic tower
lit artistically
for passers by.
Bare feet in the grass
and talking about
the sculpture in front of the museum
and Batman.
That’s how summer goes;
the last order at Taco Bell
crumbling rice and clotting refried beans
in burritos that remind us more of
mummified birds from the Egypt Hall
than Mexican food.
You complain
about that artist we both hate.
I always agree.
Love is
a burrito.

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