I move around, taking the air, taking the sun,
Thinking about going to the library, just moving around,
And I see:
A stylist waiting for a bus.
“I could drive, but this is cheaper.
I wish my son and daughter would help more.
The work in the mall is ok, a lot of hours.”
The bus nears.
Her apartment is across the street from a field
Where one teen killed another over a cellphone.
Her black hair, dye added, shines.
Her dress, cut into a deep V.
A yellow cross above the V.
That son, he runs a beer drive-through.
That daughter, she quit college, had a kid.
A man pedals out of another apartment,
Off to a restaurant to wash dishes.
“Yes, my restaurant is the one where you
Can dip a lot of bread in a lot of oil.
The dishes will build soon after lunch starts.”
He’s strong, strong legs, arms, neck.
A thin woman dusts the library shelves,
Book and video spines.
“I want to get out of here,
Move up to McDonald’s,
I eat there all the time,
Would be easier.”
She slides to another shelf,
Red duster in thin hand.I pass through,
Not cutting hair,
Not washing dishes,
Not dusting shelves,
Slow and easy ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky mid-February 2013