Friday, October 9, 2015


Sometimes after rain thunders 
down and then ceases—
you go gliding a little

faster over 
fresh decalcified re-
hydrated sidewalks—exhilarated,

if a little bit dizzy,
with the big feeling you might be 
upside down;

and it's you—whose actually swimming
under this cool black nightwater,
instead of those

moonpolished puddles up there—
each of them blueflecked 
starry and distorting 

as they sail past—
the reflections 
of those two 

quacking jumping 
splashing sopping killer 
whales of tennis shoes.