Chord Progression: B

You’ll notice the air—
surprisingly sweet-smelling
from tufts of red (really lilac)
and white clover. Now there’s
a weed that would be useful but
for honeybees is saccharine—
is the last meal of the prisoner
pardoned posthumously.

Close your eyes, you’re in
a meadow, not Muir’s mountains
or Whiteley’s far-flung fairy-forests,
but a plot abandoned to sunlit fragrance.

Only the street song—vehicular humming;
freight train’s neighing; neighbors recycling
through fugues, rounds, new world symphonies,

Techno, rap, oldies (but never the violin concerto)—
off-white clutter of noise and littered pop bottles,
empty single-serving bags of corn and potato
chips, condom condemned to curb appeal,

like smoke over the colony, leave us
fog-brained and as venom-drained
as middle-aged pacifists.

about the author
Annah Sidigu is a poet, copy editor and songwriter currently residing in Dayton, Ohio. Her work has been published in Kenyon College’s student literary magazines, Hika and Persimmons. She and her dear friend, painter Edith Casterline, recently released the poetry and art chapbook of starshit, stardust and shooting stars.