Life Throes
The Corner Shop
Do not think I do not know
You have in mind some ideal version
Of a sonnet. What seems carelessly absent,
Therefore, is intentionally present
And the corner shop selling vegetables,
The old man and his sister sorting night
From day in the form of carrot and swede
Stare at snow that does not fall
As uniformly as it should. They are dead
This long time, but the snow still falls
On the space they held, and on
The corner shop, and on the verse
Of martyrs, of angels, confraternity
Superstars, and on me, unevenly.
