The Swindlers

Backpack left dusty on the stoop for the street to consume
Day old bread is hidden in garbage bags as savory phantasms for the birds
The only sounds on

    The Boulevard
        
        Are the beats in the brains of diluted youths
Like so many tribesman drumming for rain
In trance trepidation

The smoky eyes of a July twilight observe the scene in a quiet, sweaty laze

Two hatchbacks parked along the otherwise
    
    Vacant street side

Seem to be plotting a sinister deed

And at the top of a crumbling apartment complex
Tiny Maggie Harper
Dangles her feet over the ledge as the steam of another summer evening
Soon to be dismembered by the bountiful absorption of time
Rises to meet the senses of a still clear view
That can freeze it into moments

Reviews

[DavidRyanM]

Honestly, man. I feel like my comment will only take away from this already perfectly structured poem. Wow....good thing I read this before I fell asleep -- not like I won't be thinking about it for a while.

[Leap]

Fantastic.