On the steps below a news-stand,
midst a squall of curses and cries only she hears,
a distraught woman

sprawls. On the magazine cover in the rack
another city burns. Right here at her feet
tempos grind to a halt

in her yard Passengers step
into her parlor She kicks out at belongings
blocking the way to her house

A ruptured bundle…
…a trail of torn and filthy cloth
Kicking out she stumbles

she whines… a stray struck by a stone
she sputters… a body that was once someone,
she spits… that was once neighbor

Now for all to see: discarded,
something to step around
and past… Rising to her feet

she hurls curses
like stones,
caterwauls complaint

and vindication
as she staggers into traffic
flings her hands,

jabs and points at all
who are to blame
for the rocks and flames

to come


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