Originally published in Range Finder 

Urban Pod on a Hill

Far be it from me to fetch forth
A pill and in jest inject
Vitreous humor with light until
Aperture edges suddenly outwards

Yield sign against a field of winter wheat
Two men taking turns smacking a third
Rows of parked cars like fascicles
Whatever’s before us comes in

Makes itself at home turning us into
Spectators of our own exasperation
Elation a dodge ball hurled well
Into the back with the ponk of the vanished