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| Down
Cedar |
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Or
something like it, up that hill, and then a right,
One step at a time, she said, like whispers over
Strands of hair. Past the yards, never again
At the right perspective. The vacant columns of gas
That once moved and talked, smoked cigars,
Sailed from England, cheated, thumbed through
Sears catalogs, or puttered about with greasy tools.
You have to be careful not to linger or stare
Too long through that window. Speaking to strangers
Is Ok, though what's the alternative now?
There's danger everywhere but not the kind you can
Ever beat. The fatal type, the touch. She's dead
Or drunk by noon, you said, as we came upon
Our shadow home, rising, waiting in the zone.
back to A Walk With Jane |
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