Chalks
These coloured chalks
Fell into my lap
Fruit from a swaying bag
On a passer by.
So I use them.
To plead and swear
upon the slabs
That you wear and tear upon
and smooth out with your feet.
'Look at me!', I write
'I am beneath you, like the pool
from a leaky radiator,
like the roots beneath the trees.'
My knees don't feel
the cold housed in the concrete
I gave up on heat.
Your street
Is a barren whore to me
Anyway.
I seek to plant nothing
But words.
And if the rain
washes them away
If no-one sees what I say
The chalk dust
At least
will brighten the dirt
trapped by my fingernails.
