tulips drooping, peeling
one
by flaccid
one
beneath the supple arms
of maples
shedding reams of
whirlybirds that auto-
rotate
gently on the humid breezes
punctuating
each new bout of scattered-t-storms-likely.
Inside—clean faces growing
restless at grubby
classroom windows,
a couple dozen
supple necks look craned
to crave those outdoor
days undying—their cheeks are
starving
and greedy to be
smeared red, starved
and blazing
to slurp the flimsy flesh of
cool melons in thick shade
while
Chicago's All-News Station
drowns
comingled in the background
with distant
low-harmony of lawnmowers,
and other rumors
of responsibilities which are not theirs.
