the cars this morning
were stop-and-go
through several traffic
lights
on Peter
son—
slow enough
to notice
the littered parkways
be
side.
the paint
at the base
of each
lamp
post
is peeling
and the metal
underneath
is rusting
slowly—
and I wonder:
will the posts collapse
before the lights burn out?
who will stop the rotting
when so many gridlocked souls
depend on the light?
…………..
the lampposts
by troy cady
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