Concordia Neighborhood #3

It makes no difference to the sky
what happened here,

or the east wind taking its
much-needed break.

Even St. Michael
was taking vacation

from shattered glass
and squeal of tire

seated at the bar of some
scuzzy seaside honky-tonk,

on the ebb tide
of his third beer.

Yours in poetry,

Concordia Neighborhood #1

purple suns of morning
creep and cling
weathered spine of board

capillaries of red
braid into our pausing

pierce our chatter

remind us
of those small
paper brown bags
we filled
with penny candy

Yours in poetry,