by Jadyn Marshall
Spring Street hasn’t kept
Its promise. Ya know?
“It can’t do that, hun”
Is what y’all tell me
When I bring it up
But you still sound like
Some waitress pushin’
For a bigger tip
By wrappin’ claws ’round
Sticky kids’ shoulders
And pretendin’ that
The crazy folks like
You and me and Old
Rotting Uncle Sam
Are normal, normal
Normal, normal, norma—
Like Lilac Stevens
And Jean Rose, and Miss
Lily of 7 Spring Street
And Petunia James
And Wisteria
All pinned up purple
In the moltin’ trees.
Violet was violent,
Too purple for the grass.
Daisy was dazed
And had too many petals…
Blossom would stretch out
On a hackneyed quilt
And tilt her head to the ground
While Spring Street
Blew away, broke to the
Summer and wilted.
