Two Poems Dennis Braden Dennis Braden Page 1   Public Works Those in charge were rolling out a scroll of hot tar over the meadow in New York: it was, after all, March. They heard the hum of the electric trees drawing current from the ground. A public hanging snapped open. Hangman and crowd immune in the mittens of their laughter. Spring would cover Central Park with the stickers from his suitcase. The worms in their mouths made a strong rope. Song for My Wife I have come home leaving my voice in machines the evening unravels into dark. I can still see the breasts of the woman chasing her hat in the wind and wonder will they be there in my eyes still when you open the door. A car horn sticks in the distance raises the small artillery of dogs.