Not Working Today

A glare caught the bounce of the sun,
puked ecstasy
in my eyes.

I stumbled over the dead (young and old).
Stretched out,
rotting in solar downfall.

Masses sundered from existence, their
9 to 5 mass transit revelations.
Intelligence pounded into the ground.

I take in the improvement; look for a broom to sweep up
neck ties and pantyhose that barricade bars, park entrances,
views of the river on one side of town.

An couple overdoses during autoerotic asphyxiation.
A suicide in a cemetery has the neighbors worried.
The ice-cream trucks still play

“London Bridge is Falling Down.”