I thought of myself
as street clutter:
a golden leaf bonded to cigarette butt
by heavy dew and circumstance,
some shallow-rooted tomato seedling
blown from the community garden,
the glittered gum wrapper tossed off by a young kid
eager to offer my contents to a cute redhead,
a sun-flamed, shredded patch
randomly flung from a burst tire,
the sparkling broach fallen
from some old woman’s coat,
its jewels now dimmed
and one storm away from the sweeping.
About the Author
Allison Thorpe longs to be an international poker player or daydream aficionado. In the midst of pursuing those goals, she also writes poetry. Her latest chapbook is Dorothy’s Glasses (Finishing Line Press). New work appears or is forthcoming in Pleiades, Hamilton Stone Review, Appalachian Heritage, Roanoke Review, Grasslimb Journal, Split Rock Review, and the anthologies Forgotten Women and Nasty Women Poets.