Mid-Day Sunrise

Michelle Boisseau

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The preposterous rouses us.

Cardinal in a hardware store,
cupcake in a sock drawer.

The clown was on her way to work.
On offer was another portion

of winter’s tin entrenchment.
Sobbing shrubs, streets empty

until this walking joke appeared—
polka dots, orange wig, a jeer

slathered over her frown.
As she patted herself down

for the keys to her unremarkable car,
she wedged under her free arm

her ginormous red shoes
and didn’t glance at me cruising

past, ungenerous, smug
(is she desperate for love . . .),

greedy as disease for the flowering
corpuscles of her power.

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