Andrew Walker
Watching the End from a Window
Streetlights pop on like gunshots
& I try not to think of the children
who play underneath—cheap
shoes scuffed against uncaring
blacktop, lungs filled with an air
that does not want them but I do
watch the parents glancing over
their phones in concern & wonder
if it is fair to paint anyone
in my selfish red when the sky is only
smoke & we are all becoming
ocean.
My love calls
& we do not speak of the heat that kills
the future like a cop but of popcorn
& watercolors & children in shoes
more beautiful than ours. The call ends
& a chorus of what I hope are fireworks
jolts car alarms awake & they weep
until morning under soft, yellow lights.
& I try not to think of the children
who play underneath—cheap
shoes scuffed against uncaring
blacktop, lungs filled with an air
that does not want them but I do
watch the parents glancing over
their phones in concern & wonder
if it is fair to paint anyone
in my selfish red when the sky is only
smoke & we are all becoming
ocean.
My love calls
& we do not speak of the heat that kills
the future like a cop but of popcorn
& watercolors & children in shoes
more beautiful than ours. The call ends
& a chorus of what I hope are fireworks
jolts car alarms awake & they weep
until morning under soft, yellow lights.
Biography
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Andrew Walker (he/him/his) is a writer currently living in Denver, Colorado. He reads poetry for No Contact and has work published in or forthcoming from Pidgeonholes, HAD, Waxing & Waning, Crack the Spine, Eckleburg and elsewhere. You can find more of him on his website at druwalker.com and you can find most of him on Twitter @druwalker94.
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