NOT A TYPHOON

Ian Cappelli

Across the Washington Mall, you built up twisters
to come to blows with the homeless. The serfs
of dancefloor jams hold up signs against the wind.

Those with Blueteeth avoided gusts by throwing up
RAM into the twisters. The only way out of here
is to purchase all windbreakers on sale. No cyclone

will toss up Lincoln’s chair’s hobo-guard without
asking you. Who else'd stick the spikes on the bench
20 leagues in the air? These public-space-protectors

will turn your innards out, your donut-hole soul
telling tell-alls. Listicles of top CEOs who eat pizza
with a fork are flapping through the whirl. If only

you could filibuster a tornado in half! If only you
could rabble-rouse past all the relitigated rubble
of your life!!
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