more spies

Here is the second part in a new series of poems. Thanks for reading.


spies in the field: lolly gaggers go nowhere


we watched her from the forty-
fourth
floor

as she cut her hair.
a cool
metal soft to touch,
the scissors must have been
kind in her hand.

we felt the pulse of the night,
always the night,
always in us, our veins,

good evil doers, spies in the midst,
traipsing the skyscrapers
and

make-believe,
giving it good and gracious
until

spilling off a roof someday

we’ll land atop a car and scream.

the woman does not notice us;
we can willow and melt,
oh yes.