Turn this corner

the liquor store is gone—
history rolling over again
sunny-side up
with populist prohibition.

Send forth bare bones,
everyday, into the streets—
one metatarsal set in front of the other.
Social norms in stark relief.

I feel terrible,
close my broken-blind eyes at night
for the briefest increment of space-time—
gentrification walls grow.

Mini van soccer moms
park legally outside sterile,
faux brick cannabis retail clubs.
Every low-rent Rick’s Pipe & Pawn,

where we once hawked
parents’ Christmas gifts to purchase
dime bags from Jimmy Parking Lot—                                                                 displaced.