We lunch on what's left of
a child's birthday party--
a bag of Ruffles trayed in
an empty box of copypaper
set by the trash can
The remnants of a picked-over
fruit platter, pineapple baked
through the clear plastic garbage bag
in front of the old elephant house
Its dented sheet of steel bathroom mirror,
its snug, just-elephant size
Down the hill, we skirt a young mother
spanking her three year old son
She asks him, See, we don't yell at each other?
and we cross the street to pass her
The same fallen dolls left on the lawn
of the park have risen into red dresses on our way
to get donuts and a woman, mouth spattering,
throws a lit M80 at our feet from her speeding car
Worlds explode. Ask the girl with the
tree branch we met the other day and invited
into the pizzeria. She can only say
murdering me, it's not funny, my boyfriend, this music,
they are killing me, hot poison. Chews breadsticks
Boils over with tears and wants our numbers, holds out
her phone, says The phone is real, see? What's more real?
and we have no answer and you will revisit us later,
though we'll never see you again
We pray you stay away
from the cops and your mother
We can only repeat no no no and
turn away and leave you
