It’s time for a little chamber music
of Arensky or Borodin, something minor
and enduring, as we imagine ourselves
to be, let that be a wake-up call,
as the man said. When you turned I thought
you’ve got to stop me, I’m out of control
but mature, so every step I take
counts. Meanwhile you were rambling on
about something, nobody knows what,
so that behind the wall of the setting sun
the great presences could collect and mutate
as in former times. Wasn’t it all a legend
or fictive construction? Why did we
think it mattered for us and not for others?
The whole urban chaos spalls and before
we know it the subject has changed.
What other conversation are you in?
Whose day has spent?
Working in the town,
that lummox was charged with evaluation,
so if groups of young people started off
in an opposite direction there would be a mention
sometimes. The housefronts seem more gaudy this year,
eggshell and pale green and no one
wants to take the responsibility. Moonlighters
observe customs of the spruce of the year
the way tin warriors would keep company with paper
models if others left the square unsupervised.
By the way they have a store in Hartford,
Connecticut. I often pee sometimes.
The awful leaf was congruent,
too. Mothers and hustlers bridled in the choking
dust that afflicts it from everywhere, yet owns
to no thread in the proceedings. They washed
it clean every night. In the mornings the footprints
were back, but no one was wiser. A little
bunny or some kind of ferret was probably
there too, and bore witness as only rodents can.
I could see the guy. Some in lesser hands
say repeatedly, wash it out, the shared indictment
ought to stand if only so they can all go home. Wonderful,
that it is. Now that wasn’t so easy, was it?