Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Poetry Fusillade, pt 8: Voyeur
I live near campus, so
I pick up bits of paper
Blown into bushes, at the curb,
Brush them, unfold them, stop.
A shopping list, or
A receipt, or blank
But sometimes I grab up
A small bit of life.
In green ink
On yellow paper
A young girl's hand:
"I cry all night."
