apad 10

On the corner, not nearly as high
as the church spires that spike
through the neighbourhood
is a telephone pole, erected
long before its counterparts,
wood covered with tacks and nails,
decades of pre-internet communication.
Have you seen, do you want,
you want to see.

These days it is alone,
unadorned. It is wrong.
I leave a note of my own,
even though the sky says
it will be rained off but
still for a moment the
sheet flutters on the splinters

"read this"