Sonnet LII

An Eye for Trouble

The day begins with empty hoots from trains
that pass invisible before the light
trailing cars, cut-up stanzas of rhythmic,
secret verse trafficked across state lines: arcane,
scarcely-literate. This knowledge spreads like awe
across a young boy’s face, finding right
where he wants to be: buried in that bright
graffiti swirl of S-es snaking truth
on out of town, outside the morning, past
the bus stop and the factory haze, at last
losing itself in the overnight tag
of sunrise. This side of town is a lag
between the crime and the prison. We know
even buildings are judged by their shadows.

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