An automated voice says hi every time
I pass the blue house on the corner. Otherwise,
no one out here in the cold wants to be
my friend. In February brightness, branch
shadows drop an estuary in the intersection.
A streetlight bisects 41st Street. Hawks
on the lookout for lunch meat. “Hi,” says
the voice, and a tree’s murder caws
at the intrusion. In these houses we hoard
darker shadows, illusions. Afterwards,
an Amber Alert hurts my ears during a romp
with the kids, interrupting Truck Tunes
on my iPhone. We have to explain
why some children get lost, go missing.
Cameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and (soon, three) children. Visit him at https://cameronmorsepoems.wordpress.com/