Borasca
This word seems
barren and heated
it means downpour.
It comes to mind
when I’m flailing
against the cruelty
of a god I worship.
I often wonder about
street signs’ meaning
humane in a divinity,
they alter heartbeats
of certain new lovers.
They seem to send me
in other directions,
to plant seeds
of zany asters
reddened in sun.
A withered woman
sells colas at a stand ,
raising her hands,
to join my soul
to a thin burro
as her blessing.
I would not buy it.
I could ride its back,
until membranes loosen
jarred by verdant deserts.
They will rob you.
An outpour comes
from the suns’ duct
mirages disappear
in evening borasca.
This word seems
barren and heated
it means downpour.
It comes to mind
when I’m flailing
against the cruelty
of a god I worship.
I often wonder about
street signs’ meaning
humane in a divinity,
they alter heartbeats
of certain new lovers.
They seem to send me
in other directions,
to plant seeds
of zany asters
reddened in sun.
A withered woman
sells colas at a stand ,
raising her hands,
to join my soul
to a thin burro
as her blessing.
I would not buy it.
I could ride its back,
until membranes loosen
jarred by verdant deserts.
They will rob you.
An outpour comes
from the suns’ duct
mirages disappear
in evening borasca.
Michael Igoe, city boy, neurodiverse, Chicago now Boston, many works appearing in journals online and print. Recent: ephemeralelegies.com ghostbible.tumblr.com Spare Change (Boston), Avalanches In Poetry Anthology available at Amazon, National Library Of Poetry Editors' Choice Award 1997, poetryinmotion416254859.wordpress.com, Twitter: @MichaelIgoe5, Urban Realism, Surrealism (I like Night).