Treat You Like a Cop

And give you a medal for suffering
that looks like a badge
in your discomfort a bag of chalk
to write my name on the sidewalk
and let the kids jump around on the letters
make a batch of sugar cookies
in a brick oven and let the smell
spread into the women's room.
All alone except for the critiques,
the silver angel, the porcelain
Mary, the table, and the chair.
Stand on the windowsill and think
about flying over Brooklyn
with people just waiting on Baltic Street
to catch you should something
malfunction, should anything fail.
A moral agent with a picture of
a wing doesn't mean you can fly
it means you have a dollar
and you should pick up the phone.