Sandy Lot

Sitting in damply frozen factory hand me downs they look through everything,stone-cold eyes.
Pointless paychecks are written by the recipients, proudly non-conversive green
uniformed men waltzing in place.
Black dots in the mirror blue ocean begin the mill of rumors and forget the pulses of the earth’s heart.
Jogging along the bikelane of all bikelanes in tight pink warmth mothers draw their conclusions with less than a turn of the head.
A big ferocious dog curiously sniffs, controller not paying attention.
The SUV’s of our proud nation chug a choo choo haze like puffs into the morning’s stiff crisp air.
I in my black business attire wig on by shoveling through the thick shoreline sand of the parking lot, desperate to disappear behind a curtain.