alexmfrankel5 alexmfrankel5

poetry

With your odor
Of passing and aggravation, your white bread, your drain cleansers,
your own puddings, your cockroaches fanning out across the parking lot
like glistening marzipan soldiers lugging fearsome shadows.
It must be lovely to watch for the dawn

poetry
coming across the EverTrust Bank and the Chevron station,
it has to be trying
for its energetic man with the turban (sales partner #33323)
to hang with the seven moving items of the skies,
the twenty eight ounces of their heart
along with the hardy sixteen-year-olds
choosing their noses from the soda fountain.
7-Eleven–benign, broad-minded firebrand of nighttime —
the fantastic inward journey starts with you,
inexhaustible Christmas of all green, crimson orange HELP
WANTED Do we believe we know you, 7-Eleven?

Seven Pounds of pity have been shed now
And Mother’s thrilled to be slender once again.
(The yells got poorer as they died off )

Lightness! Litheness! Presently an Opportunity to ramble
To where they did not understand her name before
the seven pounds of pity were shed now.

She’ll be cleared for life of that furor
(The yells got poorer as they died off )

Maybe there is time to visit a matinee,
Freed from what she fought to dismiss.
Seven lbs of pity have been drop now.