hover

The translucent tip of a condom
through the rain
of elm seed: sex in cars / sex for money
just another cultivar. A dozen hollow-cheeked
mattresses make a house of cards.
Wrapped against the goodwill of open boxes
left next to the dumpster & inscribed:
bed bugs. Shoes twirl & two-step from wires. The overhead
toss, the answering gesture of shoes
filling with rain. The Portuguese man daydreaming
of strips of soft rag & vines as thick
as swollen fingers. He – we, they – bear the newsprint
shadow of the man beaten
to death
with a post from our fences-make-good-neighbours
philosophy one street over. When a woman
in a fuchsia hijab hovers by I want to say
that above the chemical wash / the clever
mimicry her cheek is plump
& tender but she looks
skeptical.