At three o’clock she unlocked the door in ratty boxer shorts and shift,redhead of swirling islands. He’d been gaga over her matchboxes, her beeswax miniatures.
A siren rings outa few streets awaythen anothersomething is happeningsomething, one suspects, not good Where I standI can hear the siren, I can sense the
. . . plankton too glimmer in the existential dark
last summer’s daylilies
bloom again while a squirrel
squashed under your rear wheel last fall
sits up bright-eyed chittering in your path
and your favorite mutt
The establishment
The old crowd
Chatter bounces off the lobby marble
Auditorium seats built for a smaller generation
Hey, they still have the same concertmaster
He always seems humbled by the attention
The orchestra tunes up