snow in the street turns
grey as it melts, revealing
black tar underneath
black tar underneath
our imagined purity
the saints we pray to
the saints we pray to
can’t be listening now or
they’re plugging their ears
they’re plugging their ears
but sound replays still, a thump
period quick end
period quick end
white tarp curtains closing but
no audience claps
no audience claps
the moment soaks into shoes
snow in the street turns
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 