There is a black sinkhole down May Street. A deep cut, thirty-six feet across. Behind the homes the mouth hangs discrete. Initially, the people would toss Cumbersome stuff: a mattress, a kite, Tanks, old metals. Trash of no real loss. It sinks so low, it swallows the light. It’s endless appeal, makes her wild. She asks it, would you swallow my plight? She takes an oath and throws the child. Listen--blear eyed blank face it falls, down, Down. She can’t help but mirror its smile-- The mouth the cavern eating its frown Desperate she shouts, mother my town!
