One Poem by Michael Igoe

Main Street

We’re waking to the roar                                                                                                                                          from several power saws.                                                                                                                                    It's all over nursing wounds,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            on different kinds of avenue.                                                                                                                        At times the signals                                                                                                                                                        appear all the same.                                                                                                                         Because we counter anonymity                                                                                                                 by the power of our signatures.                                                                                                                Last night we slept                                                                                                                                  close to the canyon.                                                                                                                               After an uneasy sleep,                                                                                                                                                             we’re startled to wake                                                                                                                                                       to a smell of gasoline.

Michael Igoe, city boy, neurodiverse, Chicago now Boston. Published online and in print in journals and anthologies(available at amazon.com, lulu.com, barnesandnoble.com. Instructor at Boston University’s Center for Psych Rehab. National Library of Poetry Editor’s Choice Award 1997. Best of the Net nomination 2023. See: poetry-in-motion.org