--- M I C H A E L   M C N E I L L E Y

the freeway backed up traffic down
to one lane north 2 lanes south
but nothing to see here
the other side of the mattress
drug into the cave where the
teenagers go the beercans
too bent to go through the
recycler to get the nickel back
the dog and the neighbor's dog
lying in the sun too old
to fuck or fight the pickup with
weeds growing up through the bed
but still looks good in the rain
the 3am wakeup call heard only
in the dream the halfseen movement
in dying light through trees
a perfume of dim memory
that comes and goes in still air
a sound that could be snow outside
smoke from our mothers' wombs