in the backyard of my dreams
i hear the sparrows chirping
see hung on trellises
clusters of luscious grapes birds peck at with their beaks
the blistering greens and reds of a tomato patch
and the voices of friends calling

or women sitting on stoops
their hands knotted into grief
the slack and droop of their dresses
that plunge me forever
into sleep
while on the clotheslines
strung between tenement to tenement
my heart flaps like the sleeves of a shirt
beaten and dried by the sunlight and wind

or the horse dung on the streets
the plops of comfort, the sweat
of the mildew of the cobweb
stuck in the corner of a ceiling
of the three room flat
the broom you use
to wipe it away

nor lacking either
in an old wood stove
sparks shooting up the not so tight enjambments
the meaning of poverty

mother cooking
father cursing
another day of work to begin

- Joseph Semenovich

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