Pallets
wait at the steepled church;
The
church looms silently all week.
The
wind keens, and the branches yields
Their
leaves. They flit, crash, and
roll
on the polluted ground.
Fagged
movers haul old refrigerators,
Unhinged
doors taped, no longer
Cold
like the day, up to the faulty lorry.
They
heave short winter breaths.
And
a weary icy monger in a
White
Panama hat, red short-sleeved polo,
Blue
jeans, and bright Air max sneakers
knells
his rusty bell thrice. It rings
like
the church bells once at 3 pm.
He
limps down the car-rimmed street,
hunched
over his rickety cart,
One
wheel bent and stagnant.
But,
no one, no one greets his hallow calls.
Bolivar T. Cacares
Bolivar
T. Caceres is a New York City artist who writes poetry and fiction. He is the
author of the chapbook Outside my Garret Window. It is
available on Amazon. He writes for and edits the film blog, Film
Studies 401, which analyzes a classic film every month. His poem, Rain
in the Streets, appears on ShortEdition. Connect with him on social media
@BolivarTCaceres.