POETRY

The dishes have begun giving off that ripe smell

And looking at the scatter on the floor,
a single man has been living in my apartment.

I put on my shoes and run downstairs,
all the while wondering,

Just how large will the protests will be today,
as they grow and shrink from evening to evening,
like some sort of new weather phenomenon
that has settled on the corner of Wilshire and Veteran,
unable to pass over the tall white building just behind

I drive by them and consider the phrase
"Ki hast o Ki nist farda"
And wonder what tomorrow will bring.