Rough Fix

Sun blots out the broken glass,

shadows crawling along rough-cut plywood,

nails crooked and jagged like broken promises

sticking out like splinters of this street’s bruised face.

The board doesn’t pretend,

its edges raw, uneven—

a blunt scar slapped over yesterday’s wreck.

It waits, patient and brutal,

screamed against by peeling paint and scratched names.

This patch won’t hold forever,

but for now it’s a border,

a rude sentence in wood,

a stopgap that doesn’t ask for mercy.