i see the bristling mustaches
of Eastern European philosophers
in the revolving brushes
on the underbelly
of street sweeping machines
cracker crumbing the
wet gray angles of Gates Avenue

i see the Mesopotamian wheel-barrows
filled to the brim with watermelons
all tumbling and bumbling
in the belly of cement trucks
passed incredible below my window

cars woosh by and
you can almost hear their headlights
reflecting against the road