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Walk down the avenue. The city avenue.
Let it be winter. Dusk sifting slowly
down, hugging the bare street.
Shops light up at random. Kids
seem less eager to clutter up the way.
The hum of night is lurking in the air
as if he were ready to fold his hands over
his stomach and sigh: "Well, there goes another day!"
His thought drops into your chest.
You think: "Another day. A hundred years from now
the same remark will drop into someone else's heart
with equal dismay."
You notice the bulb is out on Segal's sign.
Joey is wearing glasses.
The skinny girl next door is coming home
from work. Youth is wearing armor.