City

by CAROLYN GUINZIO

The poem called City
is made out of glass,
its windows closed up
to code, out of which
we would reach,

through which sounds
of sparrows and rock
doves would waft if not
stopped by glass. Sound
of sounds slamming

into glass as day breaks,
broken before it begins.
So much was broken
in trying to open. Please
step back from the doors.

Please stay behind
the yellow line. So many
kinds of cars in which
to code. The poem
called City is a real eye-

roller. The home opener
was cold in the city called
Poem, broken before
it began—a horde of shards,
together and forever alone.