Читать книгу Mercy Wears a Red Dress - David Craig - Страница 14

has been left afield—though with

or without her new teeth (a nice set),

she’s always been real as the red

in a swirl of autumn leaves—

is there the moment she picks up the phone.

Her eyes wane: a mercy, perhaps,

given how much she’s seen of this world.

Even her aneurysms sing her praise.

There are many people like her,

of course—the undecorated, the constant,

amid what will defeat us all in the end.

She could be a Quarles emblem:

Patience, a little old woman, stooped

at a bend in the road, waiting

with a nice slice of pie.

Neither she nor her hubby have jobs,

often, but they do not change her.

More than anyone else,

she’s given our name a house to live in.

These days, she’s usually playing poker

when I arrive. You can watch her

on the internet. I sometimes think

it’s because we don’t have much to say,

but suspect, rather, that it’s

the adrenaline: little kings marching

out your door—always, in one way

or another. And who likes that?

It’s worse than an empty fridge, except

for baloney spread, because you can’t

get them back, or anything else really.