Bristle-
whiskered city
fathers, come clean—
tell me
quick! whose the fuck
bright idea
was this?—panoply of gristle-
colored puddles—and pits
pockmarking
the murky snarl
of grave-gray patchwork
asphalt
chunks—so abhorrent
to even
the most anemic
demands of motor traffic;
and which, for that matter,
barely seems
to accommodate its
roughly unending
occlusions of
wobbly top-
heavy tubs—erupting like packs
raunchy spectators—as I
and a deteriorating cockerspaniel
march towards his back door—unwilling-
yet-
unwitting—
participants in this—so rich
a grisly
pageant of your urban
architectural piss.
