Still dark. I don’t trust
the newspaper that ignores me.
“The accused murderer had
a disturbed childhood.”
I shouldn’t worry. As I
think this the noise
of dogs rummaging
through garbage cans
takes over.
By now they’ve found
the canary who came down
with pneumonia over the weekend
and ended up among Sunday’s
chicken bones.
I return to float
on my newspaper
and imagine
someday I will understand
electricity.
Sunlight barely filters
through the sycamores
and the Angelus covers it all.
What is real is the praying mantis
on my porch, sucking at the life
that the lightbulb refuses to give,
it’s the two flies I will find
on my cactus, the absent-minded killer,
it’s the neckties rousing from sleep
in the racks of The Emporium and Pucci’s
waiting nervously for their masters.
(Ernesto Trejo)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Prayers Poems, Dogs Poems, Childhood Poems, Worry Poems, Weekends PoemsBased on Keywords: angelus, sycamores, cactus, ignores, nervously, filters, absent-minded, pneumonia, rummaging, mantis, emporium