Can You Hear the Whistle?
It’s the sound you hear when the kettle starts to sing
or the deep desire when Midnight Star would sing.
A haunting ancient sound over the city of Beijing
from a reed fastened to the end of pigeon wings;
14th and Penn, cars block the box
send orange-jacket arms waving.
Wind strikes the edge of branches
and the air starts oscillating.
A politician speaks in code
of banks and forced busing.
Construction workers call a cat,
and I hope my Jeans don’t cling.
Jean Janicke writes, dances, and works in Washington, DC. Her work has appeared in Passionfruit, Paper Dragon, and The Last Stanza.
