Halsted M. Bernard

My boots are slip­pers, my slip­pers boots.
Uncom­mon to see cars cease at a red;
instead we all inch for­ward, lurch through.

Can I have to I would like:
our exchanges change with age.
Noth­ing is what any­thing is –

traf­fic, shoes, words

– all some­thing else.

HMB © 2009