A poem by Ben Nardolilli

I look down from the break room
at the rose colored plaza
where people wait to wait for a trial,
the advantage outside: they wait
on their own terms with devices
in their hands and the breeze in their hair

I look for signs of spring
and only see flowers on a toddler’s pants,
she is tethered to an adult male
who is nervously smoking a cigarette
I notice him touching his wrists
Perhaps in anticipation of handcuffs

The toddler screams and runs after birds
who fly away at her voice,
her toes never get close to the wings
because her father gives the tiny dynamo
a foot and a half of freedom
before yanking the bible-black strap.

Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs via Blogger, at Lo Specchio e La Spugna, and is looking to publish a novel.