This woman is passionately explaining
how times have changed, how you can’t
just take a goat or a pony out
on loan from the Como zoo anymore,
how you can’t just
walk out of the warehouse district
freight elevator to case a fresh blanket
of white, glimmering snow
with a may or may not be drug dealer
named Tony and the pony.
She is passionate with expression,
her graying hair frazzled, she is an actor,
she paces the stage, the audience affected,
stories flying out into the night, around the room,
shaking bones, rattling souls, painting a picture
of places that comprise ghost town -
the town of places that no longer exist,
the town of pop-up exes, cacophonies of dead
punk music (they all drive subarus now),
the town of storms, unearthed trees, cement
that smooths over cracks, cement that paves
over truth, SA hot dogs in a bag, and memories of Minneapolis,
a Minneapolis that will only be seen in a shovel
full of words exhumed for a night,
for those who wear black.
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