Short Placeshome Poems

Cold Streets

Walking home down brick alleys,
I'd click my broken heels
off to feel bare feet on
fall's cold streets.
Sneaking home to an
apartment I lived in alone.
I'd watch the patterned
colors of row homes pass.
Greys, blues, and tans
sadly rolling down the hillside 
in long stacks.
Sitting domino's on curved
ramps, just one push
and they could all collapse