Concrete Pressure

The radiator is still hissing back in 4B,

puddling on the floorboards I just waxed.

I’m out on the stoop waiting for the landlord’s call,

one bar of signal fluttering like a dying pulse.

A delivery guy parked on the curb

and kicked a mound of grey grit

right over the green stem pushing through the gap.

He didn't even look down.

But the leaf is thick, waxy as a thumb,

levering against the jagged lip of the slab.

The frost broke the concrete wide enough

to let the hunger through.