from CARTOON

I see a roadrunner and its shadow
on the cel, on the mesa—meep meeping,
probably going back
to its nest made of sticks,
snakeskins, and dung.

Buyers in the stairwell
of the building where I rent are
practically screaming:
Are all the units currently occupied?
They let the front door slam.
I did not know it was for sale.

A realtor showing my building asks
Is this a nice neighborhood?
waiting for buyers to come see.
I pretend I can’t hear her
I fucking live here, don’t I?

Some crow hovering, pinned
between two drafts
above torn rhododendron, cold schist
If he wanted, he could
break his body from that pose.
Does he like it, holding
his wings so still and unnatural?

∩

Miri Karraker lives and works in Minneapolis.