Mid-city’s hipster foodies bemoan
the economic growth of the national
grocery chain as they await Pandora’s
opening. Shutters swing and icee
connoisseurs play sugar alchemy: red
velvet, amarillo, grasshopper. Berry
fruit and chocolate evoke groans
from ladies in big white hats, and back
near door mats, abandoned shoes’ fat
tongues mock their owner’s burning
feet skipping from shadow to grass patch
to porch. The emerald resurrection
vine born from yesterday’s afternoon
storm canopies the cracked concrete;
mosquitoes regard citronella candles
as evidence of hoarding blood. Wildlife
scurries like bacteria flooded with fructose
under a hot lamp, a live oak.
Burlesque Press 