Faces of December
The city has not opened the warming center
Leaving the blankets to be crumpled onto the sidewalk
Where ground meets wall.
Across the street
A four level parking structure cradles cars from winter’s cruelest cut;
Bounding down the steep stairs annoyed at a piece of trash.
With fixtures finally gone, the empty awning becomes an abode;
The empty parking lot learned how fragile it was
Cracks radiating for blocks.
Across the street
Star Wars opened to a line of people for eight o’clock
Whose gaze went past the shamble shopping cart.
A week at the Lutheran Church, a week at the Presbyterian, a week at the Methodist’s
Floor beds that follow a coughing car’s contents;
Breakfast then leave until evening.
Across the street
The new IPhone commands their owners to heel,
They can demure their eyes while a shabby coat passes.
Across the street
The failure of love blossoms into
The violence of looking away.
What is there left to say about Marc Janssen? Maybe, his verse is scattered around the world in places like Pinyon, Orbis, Pure Slush, Cirque Journal, and Poetry Salzburg also in his book November Reconsidered. Janssen coordinates the Salem Poetry Project and keeps getting nominated for Oregon Poet Laurate.
