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| Drinks
with the Stones |
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Let's
walk along the sidewalk at the edge.
We know the stones in there. They're different things
To different us's. Live things made in secret; kept there too.
Things to help a child escape attack. The old white cross
Flakes in gravel. The iron fence points
To targets down the lanes. We watch our step.
Fields of vision placed now, where? to be scaled.
I hear the steps ahead. A patch of strain.
We advance, a couple from the past. On the right
A row of homes from then or thereabouts, all storied,
Papered rooms and phony lines. To the left, the fields
Half-filled and quiet. We thought we knew
The guests. I fool myself. No mumbling. No craning.
No joke. We stare and press the dirt down.
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