The Sunday paper fades: on the corner
the grizzled man handkerchiefs his brow,
lounging on a chaise of canvas and wood -
under the umbrella the June sun beats
and blinds upon, he glazes in the fumes;
he’s selling news already stale,
ink soured in the heat;
flyers, blaring bargains, almost melt,
the plastic sticky, coupons past their date;
the gossip’s all black and white
and prurient as a bygone belle
in a gown of dingy yellow crepe;
summer swarms of gnats and scores
of runic games, read for signs of future
gains, a play by play of yets-to-be,
and paneled stories in color for a time;
stacks unsold on the green table stand
towered like a paper pyramid soon
crumbled into pulp, a decomposing
mold, of photos in pixelated blur
and out of focus words, life transcripted,
a buzz of headlines smeared with yesterday.
the grizzled man handkerchiefs his brow,
lounging on a chaise of canvas and wood -
under the umbrella the June sun beats
and blinds upon, he glazes in the fumes;
he’s selling news already stale,
ink soured in the heat;
flyers, blaring bargains, almost melt,
the plastic sticky, coupons past their date;
the gossip’s all black and white
and prurient as a bygone belle
in a gown of dingy yellow crepe;
summer swarms of gnats and scores
of runic games, read for signs of future
gains, a play by play of yets-to-be,
and paneled stories in color for a time;
stacks unsold on the green table stand
towered like a paper pyramid soon
crumbled into pulp, a decomposing
mold, of photos in pixelated blur
and out of focus words, life transcripted,
a buzz of headlines smeared with yesterday.