by Susan Zenker
On the curb at Hunter and Wilcox
on the pay phone at Michael’s Crafts
on the bridge marker, 15’11”
along the bench at the Baptist Church
back of Benny’s, doors and dumpsters,
stop sign, mailbox, brick wall, fence,
on a windshield scratched in rain dust —
you can’t catch me – chicken
scratchings.
Something torrid, territorial, bursts
the paint right out of that can —
the secret desire to touch
all things living and not
like a dog lifting its leg
like a sunflower stubbornly pushing
and shoving and kicking its way
through a crack in sidewalk cement.
They are out there.
Create create.
In the middle of the night
while I sleep in cotton
and dream of baby’s breath
and the clock on the wall needs
winding, they are out there
in the painless hours before the dawn
I fear
the moonflowers tiptoe fatherless
through darkened alleys
spray-painting
I ache I ache.
(previously published in Strong Verse)
(photo from Pixabay)