Slow traffic,

lazy-eyed cars

herding each other

into the tunnel

and out of the city...

The sated buildings

gradually close

their thousand eyes

a few at a time.

Along the highways,

the squat hoes wait

to pounce.

                  Who's living

here for what?

Light, the slowest

snake of them all,

coils on the counter,

patient; the fangs

of a fork glitter

on white formica.

A plate is a mouth,

a perfect O

of anticipation.

JBMulligan has had poems and stories in dozens of magazines, including recently, Autumn Sky, Contemporary Rhyme, Animus, opossum holler tarot, Starry Night Review, Modern English Tanka and Cafe Oleh. He has had two chapbooks: The Stations of the Cross and THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS, and appeared in the anthology Inside Out: A Gathering of Poets.  He can be reached at  frastus@frontiernet.net.