I am sitting on a miniature
Cherry-colored plastic chair
On the porch of our new home
In Portland, Oregon
Which is not on fire
In fact, last night
Rain began to fall
It was the first substantial rain
Of winter and we were all relieved
After the inferno
That had burned through bush and brier
And we sang la da da
Well, the color
The color of the sky
I’d call it Crayola Violet, while
The complex chord of a train
Dopplers in the distance
For everyone to hear
And across
Across the street
A man in hot pink raingear
Sleepwalks his dog in the
Lavish morning quiet
With plastic stuffed in his ear
And we sang la da da
Well, the trucks
Judder down the city block
Young men bobble boxes
Full of almond milk and cell phone chargers
Packed up in the skin of dying trees
Baby, if that ain’t progress
Then what’s it gonna be?
