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[Frosty da snowman]

your smoking cross-eyed and waiting, the brick of an alley on your back
a flick of smoke sets ambers to asphalt to lay the scene
lazily watching as ash soldiers fight to take flight
and then you walk

walking to and through a city of familiar strangers
every image a taste of déjà vu
the child with face pressed to glass, agape and drooling, sensory overload
the father set in stone faced forward red, picturesque heart attack situation
and mother in the passenger seat eyes faraway, daddies little girl never more
the inches between them lakes of missed communication

walking still, and every building a clock tower
watching militant snipers smirk take aim, fire, eject and catch unspent rounds
human sacrifices of life given to backward demons called the three wise men
mistake, faith, and absolution

fading into another mile
the scenery turns to suburbia
tree lined streets, higher fences, and regular police patrols
a prison of opulence