I.


Eleven

eighteen

twenty five

it still comes back to

five o'clock winter dusk

walking along under trees

smelling dinners

looking in lighted windows

wondering.

II.


Heavy black lines

selections.

The belt moves

you miss you lose.

The street is full of children

Year by year

they disappear into houses, apartments,

a wedding

a name on a bell

then what?

III.


Little girls sitting in a tree

swinging legs talking

i remember.

Adolescent confessions

don't you think?

It's very awkward.

of course we would ask her

to come along but

of course

so busy

my husband

awkward

lets

get

together

for lunch

sometime

next

week.

IV.


Come out and play

damn it.

Walking-winter dusk

throat ache tight

hands close on nothing

fading away.

Shabby slum sidewalk

flashing broken glass

glittering swooping wheels around

spinning foggy night

Lumberjack freight-train images

bars full of Irish poets

trading songs, plotting revolutions,

shipping out of Portland,

slipping through New York.

A car slows down

-Hey girlie wanna ride?

better get off the street,

I guess I'll go home now.

V.


Look at that poor lady

waiting at the counter.

One pork chop, half dozen eggs,

skinny quart of milk,

cat food.

Going back

to some little room

somewhere.

-Yeah

wonder what she does

with those cats-

She's not so old

-bet she thinks

she's real sexy

with those earrings

Did you see her flirting

with the counter boy?

I wonder what she

used to think about.

Obituary:

a dance

to keep the rain away.

VI.


When I was nineteen

I sat in my father's study

crying.

He said-

When you get older you'll realize

your only real friend

is the person you'll marry.

It was July.

the last summer I spent at home.

He said-

I never talk to women

at parties.

If they're not married

they might get the wrong idea.

If they are married,

What's the point?

He was smoking a pipe,

wearing a green and brown shirt.

Sun slanted in the window.

I felt like a broken toy.

VII.


It always gets back to

walking alone in winter dusk.

It always gets back to

walking alone in winter dusk.

It always gets back to

sitting together in a tree

October Saturday

orange and blue

legs swinging, talking

Survey:

"Why do you want to get married?"

One hundred high school girls

sixteen and seventeen

answer instantly:

"For security."

VIII.


I'm going to stand here

and lean against your doorbell

til you give me an answer.

Why can't we all run away

and live in a big house

all together

with lots of music

stay up talking

as long as we want?