A brown winter coat is missing half a sleeve
and from where we’re standing
it almost seems like it is waving
from the wire it is hanging from.
The sounds of erratic power drills
connect things together on the weekend
when the neighborhood rebuilds
what it has broken.
The buses sound like giant cats
and hiss at all the passengers
waiting in the morning gray
to finally just be carried far away.
I don’t know why this place just couldn’t make you happy,
with the street hockey games
and well paying work at the plant.
Where plastic bottles are filled
with yellow dye, and the conveyor belts
look like moving darkness
creeping over the floor.
I guess now that I describe it
you really weren’t that crazy after all,
but maybe I am, always wishing
you were here.
Jacket
Teleporting Typewriter 