Under the El train
stereos pound
out from open doors
mattress shops and
pawnbrokers with big
commercial red lettering
Women push shopping carts,
slowly lurch toward
intersections
the heat of spring has died
down into wind which
rallies assortments of
bags into the air
and flaps shop signs
to and fro
(Madame Zenda Sees All)
We ride by, people
streaming in glimpses,
on their phones or
smoking or watching
with listless eyes
pavement that crumples
and pools from leaking platforms,
from the faded blue metal
that arches above
like a heartline
over Kensington
mabel lee 