My City

It’s drippy here, and the crows are mean.

They zero in on loose threads, snatch

babies right out of mothers’ hands.

Swoop and snatch, just like that.

People here are falling badly in the streets.

They don’t understand that falling is an art

you can never get better at. They turn

inside-out, though none are reversible.

Me, I’d rather hold a fish to my brow

for a little relief and do a proper fall

that bruises the sky’s knees or switch

the lights on in the glass room and yell

Dance, motherfuckers, dance! Instead,

the mayor tells people to just hold tight

and most of them do. In this city, only

the really bad ones glow in the dark.