View From An Arlington Balcony
A rumpled horizon sets to work
as the sun goes down dividing my view
shouldering the rectangle balanced
lightly on the Chesapeake, a slice
of seaboard peeled back from fretting skies
Reagan International resonating
under finger plucked flight paths, tuned taut.
Running headlong, head down, elbow
on this leg cradling all those marbled
targets, flowing relieved into the bay.
Capital dome a pointy dunce cap
radiating monkey shines, Washington
Monument on the mend, bolted into
a halo brace, Macallen’s on ice
beading on the rail line up perfectly
with only a slight shift of my chair while
tree top choppers worry all bejesus
out of a blameless Potomac, whistling
softly as it hurries past it’s southern
shore, a dark bruise in our constellation.