I Couldn't Meet Her That Day                   

I was walking down
the street, hands in my pocket when I ran
into a mob of some kind. They apparated out
of nowhere. And they were an odd-looking group.
Some hobbled on stumps while many waved flags
with hooks. When I thought I had seen it
all, a worm crawled in front of me,
dragging his torso like an bug. People scrambled
out of their way and stores threw open the doors
to them but I stood there, defiant. I didn't know
what there was to be defiant about but it seemed
right. I went to the most normal looking man
and asked him if it was a protest. The man
flicked his tongue like a snake and flared
his neck into a primeval being. I patted him
and he burst out crying. A woman with no clothes walked up
to me and thanked me for being a part of this. She smiled
as I stared at her breasts. It's my pleasure, I said.
A man with no eyes kissed my arm while a seven-foot kid
in a diaper garlanded me. I was enjoying myself when
some gnatty-looking lady clawed me and then a short man
draped in a swastika knifed my stomach. I held
my poise and walked to the nearest shop to call the police.
We are on our way, they said, when a jeep exploded.
I looked outside and I saw no one. They went
the same way they came and all I had
to show for it was a hand
full of entrails.
 

Street Life                                                         

Two kids and a dog play
by the festering drain;
they with a stick, wielding
it: kings at war. Their mutt,
a stead, looks its part
with a wag and freshly pureed eyes.