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Brittany Rogers
Brittany Rogers
Detroit Pastoral
by Brittany Rogers
Who knows why
the deers choose
Chatham Street
to gather, but I drive
by the corner
lot, and there they
huddle
glass-eyed
majesty.
We not supposed
to see wildlife here,
where sirens spin
the night air it’s
own soundtrack:
You hear that
and that could be
anything from behind
your locked doors.
This block gap-toothed,
fickle. Field
of yellow grass.
Field of soiled pampers
and beer bottles.
Food dessert,
but they graze anyhow.
Whole herd of heads
dipped so low I almost
get out the car and kneel.