Member-only story
POETRY
A Window in Portland
poem
Somewhere,
a man sings himself
to a bored Thursday crowd
with all of the grace
of a single-use razor.
A soft iron storm
billows on black water.
Above, the long neck
of industry looms,
dislocated from the shore.
One can hear:
a cough in old chinatown
a siren stutter
the wheels of a suitcase
thunder on the sidewalk.
Nearby, a drag queen sips
icy margaritas, listening
to the trumpets of Olympus
bellow from the railroad,
or was it a groan
in her barstool,
that she overheard?
Now, a brown coat
steps to the lamppost
with a folded leaf
of silver
and a straw to suck light.
Two black coffins
swoop on a trash can,
as a worm slips away
down a dark, deserted alley.