A magician in
a ghetto-full of
magicians, just groping.

What are you watching?
The buildings.

No more gossip, no more
news that was from another
time with less electricity.

Diapered kids between
windshield wiper streaks
like musical notes, the dark-
brown bodies padding on
soft feet splashing into
or gurgling hundreds of fire
hydrant baths, screeching
and whistling like helicopter screws.

These were the extremes:
the goods they made
when they met behind
the afternoon, listening, they
felt warmer, larger.

The summer felt drowsy
with its sunburnt knees,
Isn’t it beautiful? Say it.
But, what on Earth for?
Show a little more pride.

And you feel so small
on the ground at the bottom
of a wall, all of the words
she wrote on the wall, talking
wonderfully and wind chiming only
half understandably, beautiful,
beautiful so that it made
you cry, Go! Go! Go!

But shouldn’t we wait
until we actually see
the new world?