Jab

Bleach bottle snagged
in a storm drain
emptied out.
Dead birds fallen
in the streets.

Everything I have
stolen from others
under city wide
aggression.
A semi blocks
the way turned
on its side.

Mixed up combinations
in the fight, the opponent
cannot see the lurking jab.
No one can breathe
in all the mist shaved off
the river.

One way has all the time
in the world, all hammocks
and tire swings,
but never any cash.

The other is just clanging gears
and burning diesel fuel,
but can give you
almost anything you want.

You may think
you have to choose
and give up one to have
the other,

but you can linger in between
like someone smoking
on the sidewalk with a stone
propping the back door
of the bar.