Whitman's
Winter
I. Camden
Icicle drips
in the almost-April morning
collect in puddles stained by rainbows
Cars and streetlights on the way to Philly
pass your home on Mickle Boulevard
surrounded by wrought iron
Newsprint
snags among the rails growing rust
Bricks crumble from the casement
crush the mailbox
and overflow into the front yard
of candy wrappers condoms
and broken bottles in paper bags soaked with
alcohol
II. Barnegat
The
lighthouse reaches toward sapphire
skimmed by clouds of angel hair
Whitecaps rumble through the surf and erode
your hundred and fifty year old foot prints
You look out
across the rocks and dunes into twilight
waiting for the storm