If a Street Could Speak

It might recite the weight of wheels,
copy insults from birds, giggle
at the tickle of rabbit feet or
mourn the stench of squirrel carcass,

at night quake when sirens scream	
“Bad News, Bad News, Make Way!”
but today the pavement bares drifting
snow and pleads for the sun’s warmth.

Come spring the tar will bear the insults
of jackhammer and bulldozer
and care nothing for words
on a map, its true name a secret. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: