Look on dwellings through yellow curtains. 
Yes, little chicken, it was here.
You have been you the while,
reconstructing cities only to blast them clear.

Beans fry, split their skins.
it is good to feel-
to cry the loss of each eaten bean,
and know life offers up all things.
Orange, the color of dehydration.
Sad, to think this spatula will last
maybe three more meals before it melts
beyond repair.

There: there.
Do not suppose I'll forget my brother
on the train tracks lay a whole night cold,
too drunk to move.

I climb a roof to get at the deadly hero
while he looks through hotel windows
knowing life offers up all things.

           Marged Howley
MARGED HOWLEY was born, raised and educated in West Virginia. She now resides in the Pacific Northwest. Her work appears in The Black Bear Review, Snow Apple, The Staplegun Press, Bound, and other journals.