Window Pane 11/22/22
Windows are like portals.
Behind the glass, you see
the Mini-Coopers, Lexus whips
and chained bikes do their placement
in separatist strides.
From afar, you wonder:
If I could time-travel,
what would transporting be?
A wish?
Or the past?
As the jingle from the sable
door cracks, the click
of metal and wood
sound like a nine-tailed cat.
Mythical, yet still, loudly
silencing.
A Police guard peers
back at kiddos, knee-length,
not bent, but waddling
with gap-teeth laughs
and brown-skinned gleams
slipping past
the Philly P.D. car.
It’s window projects the joy.
And the kids cross
a white-lined grid, protected,
if only for a moment
through my pane.
Windows are like portals.
Behind the glass, you see
the Mini-Coopers, Lexus whips
and chained bikes do their placement
in separatist strides.
From afar, you wonder:
If I could time-travel,
what would transporting be?
A wish?
Or the past?
As the jingle from the sable
door cracks, the click
of metal and wood
sound like a nine-tailed cat.
Mythical, yet still, loudly
silencing.
A Police guard peers
back at kiddos, knee-length,
not bent, but waddling
with gap-teeth laughs
and brown-skinned gleams
slipping past
the Philly P.D. car.
It’s window projects the joy.
And the kids cross
a white-lined grid, protected,
if only for a moment
through my pane.