Crossroads

Crossroads

Jukebox, here, you can open
with a church key, press
that freebie button, play
as many songs as you like,—

bass pressing you into dirt,
pounding your chest,— little
sprigs of grass vibrating
near your nose, you prone

as a platypus, duckbill
flapping up and down
like a tophat pedal,— sun
on you, beating down, rain

no more,— records changing
onto the platter: "Violence
of the sun," et cetera, no
more "crimson shell" —nod.