Spring snow
Has made liars of us all, breath steaming
like coils of chimney smoke
sheathing the blocks of factories who churn
out compressed sand, bricks of indifference,
paving stones to sink at smart angles,
scar sidewalks for a skip-hop game
previously unplayed above wetlands,
kids on scooters , wheels stuck
in the muck between plans
of rotting pressboard
and wounded asphalt,
wait for something solid to lead them.
Dead rendering plant bleats its low horn
into the wind, car parts in broken lots
dream of automation, robots
quivering across salted earth.
Dumb luck, small rubber tire
snags on the city’s grid, a kid flies
ass over teakettle over ass over
Toddler sniffs against the lingering
cold, fingers wound
through the metal diamonds
of a softball fence.
Snow-mist lifts from the outfield,
mysterious and foreign
as melting dog shit.
Anita Dolman’s debut short fiction collection, Lost Enough, has just been published by Morning Rain Publishing. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in journals and anthologies throughout North America, including, recently, Matrix Magazine, Ottawater, Bywords; and Triangulation: Lost Voices. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, and was a finalist for the 2015 Alberta Magazine Award for fiction. Follow her on Twitter @ajdolman.