Day with a Bad Taste

The street gasps with the exhaust
of trucks and buses, rumbles in my ears
at traffic lights, crowds me
with impatient sirens, puckers
my mood like a bite of sour grapes.

The clock outruns the items
on my worksheet, a tick-tock joke
at my slow feet.

I walk past store windows with
a stranger as my reflection and
ask myself what facts
indenture me to my place.

I look for playgrounds, libraries,
wide shaded yards, houses of friends,
and see beer joints, junk yards,
dogs digging in flower beds—I stop at
a drinking fountain to rinse my mouth.