Armed with Rustoleum & grandiose aliasesin case of arrest, we branded the sidewalkswith our anti-violent, violent message,wheat-pasted sins & leafleted long afterbull-headed & well-intentioned argumentsturned to mildly-amused barely noticed,disavowing all each morning, like a hangoverthat just needs to be powered through.These days, I wake to birdcall followedby children’s questioning of everything,including What Mama Did When She Was Younger,& in sharing glimpses of days gone, hopethey’re able to ride that current of Hope.I spin their messages into a river of words,in up to my neck, yesterday’s sidewalks soaked& glistening with the power of every single one.
Susie challenged the Real Toads to write a street poem.