The pond beside the dump
bubbles with blue froth;
milk cartons and black bags float
like dead fish. A man’s head
pushes through, severs the surface
of the water, red wires
pour like linguini from his mouth,
the pockets on his vest
overflow with nails, screws.
He crawls up
from the pond, a trail of black
sewage saturating
the ground behind him. When he takes
three steps—then stops—
