Surface Tension

The leaves have turned to a sodden paste

plugging the iron throat of the street.

The gutter is a river of waste

swelling up to the soles of my feet.

I stepped off the curb and the cold

poured into the leather and the wool.

A story I’ve already told—

the weight of the lungs when they’re full.

A plastic bag caught in the spin

bloats like a white, translucent chest.

The water is thin as a skin

putting the pavement to the test.