Saturday, June 3


The sirens stayed
at my window
because they were
not welcome;

they bubbled there
in various colours
& shades ,got manic
swelled & turned.

of all their names
their fame &
in our hot june

—a finger tap-
ping paperbags at
alarming speed
; the redbluegreen

stars linger over a
nearby bridge—
but sirens do not
stop at the sill

they penetrate
to grow over my
reclined pose
on the sofa.

‘ are you okay
?’ the loved ones
far, the night’s
noise aroused

until that word
is finally uttered
upon the news
as the city crackles

under its own
weight, the clouds
uncurtain our at
last nude moon

poised to thank
the redbluegreen
star as it rotates
one more time.

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