The Same General Area


the boys talk fast
on the front porch
with the crickets
furioso

the moon slides
over the top of the gingko
and spills its pale, white light onto the leaves
you can almost hear it

dark spring breezes
swing like doors
hung in a foreign language

these things
and things like them
have been happening lately
here in the heart of town

city hall ought to relocate
to this same general area
to this same general time

the boy poets and echo victor echo