by Shaun Terry
It appears as chunky vomit
on the black, smooth polygonal pieces
that form the parking lot.
Petals, pollen, and other floral parts
lie scattered in an amoebal pattern,
stuck to the opalescent chemical residue
from a car’s accidental discharge.
Pale yellow powder covers cars;
it fills the air
and the itchy eyes of babes and centenarians.
Irritated drivers grumble
over the inconvenience of nature’s filth.
The myopic curmudgeons flip levers
in their air conditioned cabins
to induce the wipers to wave side-to-side,
whisking away the momentary mess.