Tuesday Morning (From a Distance)

The garbage cans and the chairs were strewn all over

The bridge, a mess of broken computers dashed and

Scattered among trampled flowers. Was it a dog’s

Fault? It seemed possible, given the

Half-digested corned beef in a half-moon over the edge.

The disgusting mess in the early spring air made

Passerby shiver and tighten their grip on their sweaters

Or dive their noses back into books when the sun

Started to re-fry the previously edible.

However, most of nature had no problem,

Butterflies passed by in massive numbers

Completely oblivious to the staining metal

And remains of apple cores or old posters.

Eventually, an old man will come by,

Clenching his coat shut as he waters the

Mess from the side, murmuring angrily

Into his telephone about his neighbors

And that damned dog.