r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Kevin McLellan

From Above

 

 
 this street of newspaper
deliveries and bakers

already activating yeast,
4 a.m. dream awoke me.

The Brazilian house
painters aren’t yet waiting

for The City Supply
and Paint Company doors

to open; and the shivering
birds haven’t started

salvaging for Fernandes
Fish Market scraps.

My stovetop espresso 
percolates Sumatra;

and I, no matter what
Romney proposes, live

to interact by way of
Asia. South America. Europe.
 

 

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