Tonight’s street theater in rehearsal
around bridge legs, street urchins
encircle a fire barrel while pigeons arc
iridescent, unloading over happy hour.
I take in the view at mid-bridge.
Glass towers blued as the blue thighs
of clouds roll across the burlaps of sky.
River hauling debris around green hills
to the Pacific. Lines of brake-lights strobe
down bridge slopes, commuters fleeing
cubicles, becoming consumers on
that freeway’s exit ramp to the mall.
Swing shift break over, I approach
my factory’s riverside door as another truck
backs into the shipping dock, dark cave
needing a refill. I flick my break smoke
onto a puddle of diesel, half
wanting to ignite a distraction.