The Greengrocer’s Apostrophe

A poem by Ezekiel Black

When trash birds fly 
in the face of clouds,
when clouds collide,
climb like pilgrims
over mountains,
there is only hush,
a susurrus.
Rain falls like linen.

Even modest clouds
weigh several tons;
Even American crows
know trigonometry.

More of a magpie 
than a greengrocer,
I too want to nuzzle 
the sky and whisper, 
“Baedeker.” I want to say, 
“With twenty-five soldiers of lead, 
I have conquered the world!”

Like a vegetable, 
a gun should be 
heavy for its size.