Stump Removers

City of Desire, population unknown,
You’re dark like an orphanage
On a winter night,
Everywhere blue and unnamed.
The choir of lost children, not yet up
From their plywood beds, has the voice of birds
On a night too cold for birds.

A fire is lit in the kitchen.
It seems to hint of the morning outside.
The warden, used to the world
Groveling at her blue toes,
Hitches up her skirt for the stump
Removers, who ignore her.

They were dumped on the doorstep too.
This was long ago, when nuns ran
Things inside. God, they say under their breath,
You’re like a sheriff patrolling the square
On a three-legged horse,
Making a big fuss out of nothing.