Slide And Dry

The dried paint, long since atomized
from cylindered source, once bled
in brief runnels upon the steel, upon

the brick and concrete, graffito to
graffito then finally graffiti and
jagged votes of the disenfranchised

or just mischievous, snaking without
slither through the public domain that pokes
vertical from the surface just as hard,

which could use the dripping stuff,
if only blood—or better, rain—and had a tongue
and maw hollowing down to an unknown depth

whence a breath of sustenance billowed up and up
to all, even the night painters, sly sliders,
who might not need their scrawl and hiss anymore

For thirteen years John Zedolik has taught English and Latin in a private all-girls school. Eventually, he wrote a dissertation that focused on the pragmatic comedy of the Canterbury Tales, thereby completing his Ph.D. in English. His iPhone is now his primary poetry notebook, and he hopes his use of technology in regard to this ancient art form continues to be fruitful.