No stars are out,
More rightly-no sky stars,
True stars; but tree stars
Line both sides of Main Street.
School paper, exposing
It's "personal" ads, lies
In the gutter.
Dead leaves alarm,
Like clatter of old bones,
They too speak of time gone past;
Now strapping on windy Adidas,
They race an empty boulevard
Even the drunks have left.
In the Laundromat,
Torn Kleenex, full of long-forgotten
Snot and sniffles;
Old plastic bag, balloon-puffed,
Like a lung with one last sigh;
And a six pack full of empty
Diet coke.
