I saw the vents in the heater
turn into orange children
or grey flowers
And Chinese food containers
crushed together to become
Styrofoam beads that floated
out toward the trash islands.
A roller blading Veteran yelled at
a burly mustachioed
cop, pointing from a street sign
to a small red covered notebook.
All courage streamed into the husks
that blew down from the coconut palm
across the pavement, a symphony
pulsating in the Don’t Walk signal.
About the Author: Henry Cherry is a journalist and photographer based in Los Angles. His recent story appearing in Slippery Elm has been nominated for a Pushcart and is one of the notable stories in the forthcoming Best American Mystery Stories. He has been a featured reader at the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles and at Litquake in San Francisco. Always the bridesmaid, he was a finalist for the Stegner Fellowship and a finalist for the PEN/USA Rosenthal Fellowship. He created and wrote the history of jazz column for Offbeat magazine. His work has appeared in JMWW, Scalawag, Cordite Poetry Review, Southwestern American Literature, Slippery Elm Literary Journal, Poydras Review, The Louisiana Review, Artillery Magazine, Los Angeles Review of Books.