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This is a poem for you to read
Of phrases and words that breathe
Their breath of letters in lead
Stuck to flypaper in my head

Rain dripping through a rolled down window

Hiding under a wooden porch listening to secrets

An oily leather man and woman retire by a pool

Peanut butter on my thumb

Forehead pressed against a school bus seat

A table in a basement being used as a shelf

The cold sting of a knife cut

Wizz-clap goes the shutter

Bruised bananas in a brown paper bag

The box labeled "yes" marked with a check