Sangpur

 Screaming at the sprinklers at 3a.m., it's the middle of March goddammit below 60 degrees for 133 nights worms are drowning as the murders roost there's pink crumbs on the freshly greyed table and a lady bug sun drunk here at berryman park the day after st.  pats sitting on the sprinkler screaming at the world eating salsa for breakfast here at 4 p.m after an hour at the pool treading chlorine my right shoulder a familiar ache got out my new violin it needs a play no money all week it keeps me in beer at best as radio does a pledge drive begging the conscience I'm so contemptuous of the off leash pooch owners and the feral cars it's mid march and trump fundraises inciting riot I sat at the bar I sat at the bar I sat on the sprinkler with fresh eyes and a voice that never sangpur