Counting vacation days was her hobby.
That and making collages when she talked
on her pink Razor.

Hand grab it and bring it over here, she would order.
The crescent moon reflected off
the policeman's watch as he
did her biding.

Below a mezzo soprano was being rushed
to the hospital and although the blinker
stretcher drifted through the streets,
they didn't look that way.
Cock-a-doodle do.
No one would care if she wasn't famous.
The blank canvas stared back wishing
to be blue. The cop hated collage, even more
than he hated static on the phone.

He was the type to play Maplibs into the night.
Art in pixels. He said the name of his company
over and over into the phone. His bosses were gone,
so he talked louder in Chinese.
How do you say Metal Rabbit in English?

Based on a gasp on the other end and the roar
of a copier, Blue hit the pavement. His final advice —

Bite the apple and drive the longest hole. Everything is going to be alright. There is water and there is sky.

---

Marcia LeBeau lives in Brooklyn, NY. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in O, the Oprah Magazine, Rattle, Handsome and U. S. 1 Worksheets. Marcia was named "Most Outstanding Writing Coach" by New York Scores, an after-school literary program. She is a graduate of Vermont College's MFA in Writing program.