Sean Russell Cooper

Once there were smooth brown fedoras
and lips like iron. Once there was rain in
September. Amber lights shine
brightly on Tuesdays, but dull on Sundays.
A funny face taught me the way
down polka-dot halls. Dirty sheets with a stolen glance.

Again there were woolen gloves
and lips like sweet cherry bark. Again there was sun
in October. Iron rusts in rain, and light tells no lies.
A grinning face showed me the way
down cracked paths. Spotty lawn with a rough magic.

And then there were sweat shirts
and lips like raw cider. And then there were clouds
in November. The lawn has gone to seed.
A fool's face led my shadow
down dank alleys. A body is bleeding.

And now there are robes
and lips like fetid smoke. And now there is fog
in December. My shadow is hunched like a leper.
My marble halls echo with laughter.
My garden is closed to the children.
My alleys are choking the city.

Clocks need two hands to tick.
I have only one.