Horace

[a vermits]

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Was what I saw
sitting in encounter

you in Tampa
between bird cries: wheels of
broken big wheels – hair silly
string and sad string?

Was what I saw
sitting in Kenosha.
north bound children
with no hope for encounter?

Through milk dishes, fishing line
and generous summer storms

Tampa rains over
trash: space we generously called
a garden.

while passive driveways are plowed in Kenosha

and strange American boys sweat
American

their fathers sift the sea for women

and “good sea women”
for drinks