Poetry: Velásquez Bone by Kenny Williams
This one goes out to anyone
who’s ever looked up and found themselves
alone on the bus.
Birds and frogs are perversions of each other,
each in perfection exactly what the other isn’t
in its itty-bitty bones.
Would they, the riders who left you
alone like that, without even saying goodbye,
without so much as cursing your name. . . .
Would they?
At last, at the museum, no one is envying anyone.
You lift a canvas off the wall. It’s heavy with midgets
and skirted children. And because they seem to be you
in equal measure I despise them.
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