Street

There is no fragrance of flowers
People do not fashion some things
Anymore. Somewhere winter
Lazes around, like an idle snake
In hibernation, refusing to stir
Thunders taunt with no promise
Of rain. Everything is stoned

Crows head home like failed
Clerical missions. The sky is
Crimson with the dying day
Clandestine gazes exchange
Messages in twilight.Only
The street bears silent testimony
To a stray catfight.

Somewhere a lovelorn loafer
Seduces passing women
With a sly smile.