Something Black and Red

Walking to work

Covering my ears as always

Past the scream and grind

Of savage machines

My feet deep in heavy snow.

Suddenly I saw:

By the construction site sat

Balanced on the edge of a curb

Something black and red

Under a thick layer of ice

Immune to the December sun.

In those days I didn't know

what a scarlet tanager 

looked like dead

or sounded alive.

Forget Your Woes

A Birman licks her paws—deformed and pale—
and wails, inside the doorway, where the footprints fade. 
A belly rises, quivers, falls. 
A head is hanging down—the eyes are open wide.
A sign implores, in letters painted scarlet-red,
"My fellows, have a drink, forget your woes." 
Fluorescents buzz and flicker, overheard.