a child in rubber boots
wonders in the underground
at the dripping grates
holds up his hand to catch an emulsion
of machine oil and water
tells the rush hour crowd
how he captured the sky
there’s endless worrying about the simple fact
about a stormy season
the weather reports indicate showers
at more than half probability
and the shoulders in the underground deflate
umbrella sellers reach with extended hand
offering prayers in silence
to those in mourning
the pre-written obituary database
hasn’t been completely finished
MJ is dead
and from the second stories
records dusted off start turning
aimed at passersby
there’s the white space
yet to be filled up

© 2009 by Stephanie Krueger

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