Brooklyn March

Wilted balloons caught in trees inflate.
Bare branches web the sky like safety
nets for birds. Cars spill murky water
from pools that swallow nothing back.
They say another city hums beneath
the streets. I can’t read an urban legend
on my phone, the sun’s so bright.
Booted to the knee, a woman steps out
and jaywalks the grid, swinging her hips,
making busy taxis idle. Drivers baby
potholes; letter carriers smile.
Spring heats the skin. Dazzled by the sheen
off the street, I drop my jacket in a heap.
Balloons and pedestrians float higher.