Synchronized Swimming
Except walking
where an old Cadillac U-turns
mirrored shades make me
I think for a cop. Air
bleached, over-heated and
-exposed my black suit hangs
in a compact around
here I am dizzy
and I duck into the avenue
gallery where a grizzled burner’s
playing electric guitars
made from toasters and coat buttons.
Pictures hanging all of water
may be ironic but if I
plug my ears I do still hear
ocean inside this
synchronized swimming
routine twirl of
wallet and two Hendrix postcards
some eye rolling
and my surprising excellent plié
we’re alive after all
and afloat in this day
a tangle of terriers in the street.
Pause against the glass
door between me and
remembering the car I
changed after the service right
or left I don’t know I
make the door chime the air
too hot and visibly
pregnant one pit bull
locks my eyes I recognize
skinny trees buckle
and release exhausted by
the choreography of the sun.
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