etryPhoto by A Brand New Minneapolis on Foter.com / CC BY-NC

He sees the avenues

He sees the avenues, the streets,
the boulevards — names on bent signs
in blue and green and red, marking
the borders between neighborhoods
with walls of stone and hedge fences
like barricades on memories
or the steep climb between childhood
and fruition. Hints of alleys filled with trash,
the collection of our modern deserts,
sands washing over our monuments to the past.
Like the first ascent in a hill-less country,
some white dressed Minnesota invierno
when the spring feels so far away
and mittens are the sure companions
of tiny fingers gripping slushy mud balls
like fuel-less rockets aimed at enemies
bound to fall apart as much as hit their targets
like North Korean missiles falling in Japanese seas.