Jitneys blow unlicensed
jingles passed the boy-king sleeping.

Heralds through the noxious air crack loose
his rummy subjects lately hunching over

cardboard squares in bow to their hosanna
hour. From wire cart the child rouses

under piled mango; Mom the honored coterie
parts crowds with her patois.

Here the only green adornment trickles down
the gutter, antifreeze reflected pooling

where the pigeons fly. Rested is he who comes across
his avenue, whose blinking sloughs

the crust of dream and falls into the blasted course,
a golden gift pressed into street.

Roll chicken bone, roll Styrofoam; pierce incense
wafted over wares re-stocked to morning’s

promise: in tandem does the wheel flame forward,
eyeing after tabernacles yet to lose

their pomp. Receive him striding crimson carpet
fitted for the stairs. Hands, clap.