Lobster
by Cassady Cain
If anybody calls me
or comes by to see me
tell them I’m out
getting even with somebody
Into sudden, bitter focus:
a frost-bitten street
where I’m standing
with my hands
slipped into the deep
seams of my pockets,
taking in the special
sort of expression
that can only be found
in the imposing,
smoke-grimed
architecture here
The lowly sun is a demon from Hell,
the cars on the street have become sudden insects
I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster
