Waiting Again for Biopsy Results from the Second Floor Exercise Room I glimpse the tulips every two seconds. They arrived late this year. Those who planted The bulbs must not have considered how they Would look from here—red, paired with pink dogwood. Seven umbrellas float by; only one Inverts. Ammonia swathed on the machines Makes this walk to nowhere less appealing. A police car patrols the next window Where a dingy white van remains parked. It Is difficult to discern if it’s still Raining. Two bridges (I have crossed neither) And the asylum for the criminally Insane loom across the estuary. An old woman obscured by a plum cloche Appears to hail a taxi but after One stops, it’s clear that she is waving to Children who laugh as they glide past. She turns And exits my view. I will try to eat Six green things today and nothing white. A Flash dance mob and you are as likely to Appear. My tiny bottle of perfume Is almost empty. It sits alone, a Deluxe sample, on the pink tray I bought Last century in Florence. I don’t know If I’ll buy a bottle—still unable To find, at forty, my signature scent. The postman slumps against the fountain, his Body the heaviest load that he has To carry. How much rain would it take for The fountain to overflow? I wish I Hadn’t been too self-conscious to learn the Basics of the Argentine tango in The three lessons before the wedding in Thessaloniki. Ever since I read Bronte, I refuse to use an umbrella And pretend I’m walking the moors even In the city. I am never where I Am. If I told you what I look forward To, I couldn’t bear your pity. I would Not do any of this without music. This room is a drenched rag of desire, Even when it’s empty. It is not too Late to learn something new, even with this Trach scar and three letters in my desk drawer. Nine dogs saunter past, smelling the sidewalk. The weather does not seem to bother them. It is too early to be this dark out. I don’t want to leave the building today.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 10:33:29 +0000
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