I wanted her to love me but she had
A fish in her bag and then lit
A cigarette with an apology that lingered
Longer than the smoke. This was on West
Seventy-third and Columbus
Outside a bank where some drunks
Had clustered to talk about God, how
He lives in us and through us and what
The miracle of his power means in our
Lives that we are not soused at 7 p.m.
On a Thursday evening in early June.I wanted to tell her that the street
Is a happy one for me, that I have
A notion beyond the contours of rhyme
Or reason I may have been born in
A hospital nearby and long since razed
but it was just as well I didn’t because
She might have suggested I check the facts
So I could have it straight in my mind when in fact
it was straight in my mind as a source of happiness
That such an event could have transpired
On this block where we now stood.But also how you can be looking in a store window
As I was later, saying if only I could have that stick
Of furniture I’d be happy forever, this kind of thought
Coming up more than once in a person’s life
In the random flow of mental event with the power
To dog you late into the night and wait for you in
The day that follows and bring you back
To the source so the purchase can be made
And your new life can begin.But really, that fish, that stinky, stinky fish.
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