an old dorchester woman

and a girl from the high school

together stuck standing in the median

as traffic splashes past

on either side.

it's their own fault,

crossing like that,

but they didn't know they'd get stuck

and their clothes look soaked through.

i sift the caring from the condescension

and hold on tight to what's left

but i can't see my hands

she quotes herself with pauses

and talks about her kids as if we

hold our breath

a delusion--

like a freight train--

its a charge with thoughtless strength

bass shakes up the muffler

and he slaps the wheel

like the bravado

will soak him,

dampen til translucent

as a grease stain

mexican man leans

half outside his pickup

looks left, helpless

gestures at the

bus horn blown behind him

there are three bottles of paint

left on the table in the corner

and a mirror lies flat on its back

so all you can see are the cracks

in the ceiling.

delicate features

on a worn out frame

sips starbucks at the back of the bus,

leans forward expectant-like

she's about to bound

in the picture he drew

his shirt was flat and green.

i'm painting.

he said

but she called him baby

and he agreed

to leave the room

down the hall

down the stairs

to the hospital.

watched and weighed,

wait and see.

watch and wait,

catch and release.

maniac laugh

from the boy across the aisle

and the day's too young

to find it cute.

then a whimper

then a wail

and people turn to stare

and they think thoughts

that they regret

my head got crowded

stumbling

i couldn't find the words

that said their thoughts are broken up,

brains all tied in knots but not

like infants

not like insults

behind me she's surprised

didn't know you had a son

its your first?

i did not know.

and up ahead a little girl

pets her plastic child

black man old and crippled

peers out through the open door

at the lump of crow

laid limp across the sidewalk.

its neck all twisted up side-

ways its beak is barely cracked,

drains a bloody trickle

to the street

particle board head board fragments

from a glossy cheap bed

frame lie shattered--like torn

by a giant--

in a stacked pile

by the dumpster.

he rests his hand on her head

as they walk side by side

and she cradles

her face

like it might fall off.