The Street of Sun and Soot
Kay Flower
In the street of sun and soot,
noon had already past
but laughter was not yet late
as I long for the hour to leave.
There is an unspoken truth upon those stones;
am I Webster, Wharton, Todd or Tesla
and as I stand below my gaze
I’m melded with the doors,
the glass,
and displays,
making my form incomprehensible.
My own sight is blurred,
Yet despite my skill
I am reluctant to change.
The distance is what I see
and as I stand,
disguised and watchful,
someone watches back.
There is a boy I see
at the end of the street
where clear stones, salted smooth
are laid across the dirt
in an attempt to smarten
our street of sun and soot.