the child etches “whys” into forsaken dust
heels cracked, swollen, the bluntness of shale
nowhere to be found, a necessary venture
untouched, but coarser as scorned wives scream
when batteries melt, and cigarettes curl
and water in the fountain will tempt
the most sensible of traveling birds
that harbor terrors on which newscasters feed
and face masks adore, eyes and brows
do shrivel in the face of deified plague
vague, calculated prospects
and suspects exiled as the arbitrary talk

*Cat No. 14 of the 500 Cats Project