Settling into his flannels, he must have aged
something inflamed, turned off the light
and went into arrears. Always these complications
changing an orderly, conscientious girl into a tall
young lady. Seeing a crumb or a stain
would have relieved her. Two men wheeling
the old woman into the tunnel, caps set at jaunty
angles. Trying to get the camera ready
in time to take a few quick snaps. His knees
rise to meet him as he pitches forward onto
the pavement, new sets of footsteps
arriving each minute. Precarious
notions indeed. Two blocks down
there's someone from Baltimore, listening,
taking notes. Somehow she managed
to play it by ear. Music boxes and silk flowers
set out there in front, in the center window.
Move along, please. We've got to give them
some room to get by. Tomorrow is somebody's
birthday, the whole town sleeping in
patterned, zippered cocoons.