When night falls & I can't afford anymore
toilet paper, I begin to perpetrate things.
My wheelchair grows plaintive
and like a vision
I begin to sell windshield washes at the intersection
where beauty went to find a necklace of fake-vitamins.
A beautiful black woman wearing a headband & khaki shorts
passes me with an apparent apocalypse
crying into a Blackberry.
Thunder increases like a stockyard reverberating Easter through Panama.
A vision comes to me of a wheelchair made out of exploded children wearing candy-necklaces.
I hug a bottle of tapwater close
& remember a tennis game I once watched
in a hotel room near the airport in Cleveland,
& sure enough, the morning wheeling round opportunity
is found claimed by a rich white woman,
more luggage I could've used
greed wouldn't let them accept to lose.