Refraction

I kept my chin tucked in my collar

to avoid the man at number four.

I wouldn't give a single dollar

to hear him talk about the war.

Down where the storm drain drinks the rain,

I saw a shimmer in the grit.

A jagged piece of cellophane

with purple fire inside of it.

It leaned against a cigarette pack,

an oil slick on a candy wrap.

A bit of light inside the black,

a bright and accidental trap.