landscape with needles
after Bruegel
between the Methodists and AME, the park and racetrack
with its red eye turned to gamble
between the Prius’ and Kias
between ADT alarming padlocks, the deck
with conversation seating, doggie dogs on leashes
and muted pit bulls, the mowers gone, gone the boxes
Amazoned, the bicycles for toddlers
between the curb alerts for baby clothes w/crib
boogie boards for cheap
and clots of needles
between the whites and sulphurs licking
at the tips and chump azaleas
three streets
About the author:
Kathleen Hellen is the author of The Only Country was the Color of My Skin (2018), the award-winning collection Umberto’s Night, and two chapbooks, The Girl Who Loved Mothra and Pentimento. Nominated for two Pushcart prizes and Best of the Net, and featured on Poetry Daily, her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in American Letters and Commentary, Barrow Street, Cimarron Review, The Massachusetts Review, New Letters, North American Review, Poetry East, and West Branch, among others. For more on Kathleen visit https://www.kathleenhellen.
Art: Automatic Gravity by Todd Brugman
In the artist's words:
