Mobile, Late April

God, my patience is thinning
Out across the bay
                                & the trolling fishermen,
Their barren hooks & thick crowfeet, say
Cancer can’t be worse than this
Potholed causeway
                                Jutting & expanding
Over ocean, toward the nimbus …

The cruise ships are delusional.
Magnolia-grooved mansions

Wind the other direction, past the Navy’s
Metallic graveyard & 24/7 bail bond
Shop whose neon blinks
                                        The future. I touch
A rabid squirrel’s tail
Cause it lets me. In the square
A bum slumps his shopping cart, his bric-a-brac

An extension of his face. Each swollen eyelid
An island. God, You sail
His diseased cornea. It does not hurt
Him: cirrhosis throes, eternal.