Nothing in the periodic table of elements prepared you for this many vacant lots. The fruit detectives lumber nearby and suggest this could be where they’re dumping the maggoty apples and limes, the pears, the profanity. The fruit detectives have a particularly narrow world view. Baristas with rose-colored hair and dog-collar tattoos take full advantage. Puddles of coffee dot your weedfield of vision. Re-vision: puddles swell your brain with mud: the very definition of concussion. This city is migraine, minefield, mid-tier rejection letter. We wish you luck placing your best ideas elsewhere. It’s like in the movies, everyone says no until someone says yes and there’s no rhyme to what changed. Somewhere a garage door opens, somewhere a hurricane flaps its butterfly wings. But that is theory and this is practice: a single daffodil, waiting for the first of April.About the author:
Amorak Huey recently left the newspaper business after 15 years as a reporter and editor. He teaches creative and professional writing at Grand Valley State University in Michigan, and his poems have appeared recently in Indiana Review, The Southern Review, Right Hand Pointing, kill author, and other journals. You can follow him on Twitter: @amorak.