The Brooklyn Wild
a snowy owl in a Target parking lot
a coyote trotting
over tarpaper
on an empty rooftop
a gingko leaf
spinning in a dark pool
of placid wastewater
a mumbling psychic
throwing scraps of rye
to the pigeon hoard
the eye of Venus
piercing the dank smog
of the Brooklyn night
a ragged boy
gliding down fourth avenue
on a snow white mare
pale green parrots
perched atop the gothic turret
of a sprawling graveyard
you, in your dusty window
dancing blithely
as the street rats sing
the wilderness alive
Gregory Wolff is an almost-PhD in philosophy turned organic farmer, writer of fiction, poetry, essays, and children’s literature, and very proud father of two enchanted and half-wild children. His writing appears or is forthcoming in Chicago Quarterly Review, EVENT, Prairie Fire, The Moth, J Journal, Zone 3, Vassar Review, Writers Resist, and elsewhere. You can find out more about Gregory at thewildernessofwords.com.
Header photo of Brooklyn at night by ESB Professional, courtesy Shutterstock.
