Shoots of clover and grass
fumble upwards through the cracks
in the sidewalk --
weeds always grow back.
Lickety-split: remember the girls,
the tattooed girls
bearing parcels in their shoulder sacks?
Godspeed through the intersection
Running red lights, now black
as our eyes rise to Dutch-angled
bits of skyline -- Corinthian columns
on edifices mouldered and stained
By time. It is mine and yours.
They will never define us, those men
in boardrooms and slick, gray suits.
An alarm, a love of life, croons.
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