wild onion fractal

My Son Was Born During Talmud

Holding the bus driver’s side view mirror
“600” written on his foot

no answer to why we dropped the deacons
from our gown adorned flock

Three United States Marines
walking home from the bar
still only midnight

many heading out, black,
or sitting on a sidewalk playing guitar

Standing and watching from
cash register podiums in
the garb of a peasant settler

lies are told leaning against
beach cruisers and fountain walls