XXII

If these streets could speak
They would tell the story of
A homeless boy whose greatest treasure
Was an 80’s bicycle — barely unbroken

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If these birds could talk,
They would swap gossip of
The bartenders who crawl
Through here and home at night’s closing — shaken,
unstirred

And if the northern wind,
Cared enough to pay attention
It would stop and stare
Like the rest of us do
Marvel in awe
At you