Lizzy Burnam 🐞

In a city where tap water tastes like blood, 

a man stands in the middle of traffic 
shaking an empty gasoline can, 
splotches of his shirt dark with sweat.  

The light turns green and three cars roll 
over the flattened skull of a calico cat.

El agua es vida, spray-painted on the sidewalk. 

Wind-clouds of dust and black smoke 
the smell of burning rubber. 

Yet only by fire, nature is reborn whole. 

A flame in the man’s cheeks, 
reflected by dark-tinted windows, 
questions echoed but never answered. 

Oh, that I might die! (Me too, me too.) 

Little orange wink from the turn signal light.
Long pause in the cloudless sky. 
Then the rain.