Читать книгу For Display Purposes Only - David Seymour - Страница 16

Then unbuoyant dread at the all-night

hot-dog stand. On the woozy cab ride home

the street turns trampoline, Olympic updates

play on ethnic radio. Cars lurch to the stops

like relics waiting for an archivist with foresight.

Sewer smells, primary, combine then cancel out.

Faces of the passersby broadly range

the zone of cranky and dissatisfied. What

happens badly comes in threes but never

does triangulate, while they waver, gather

patternless at crosswalks, not as sums

of chance but slim chances held against.

Probably, we’re told, it’s not success

or doing our job well that counts, but

to recuperate from unexpected failures.

The business district’s scrapers look like saints

about to levitate, every ad’s in love with us;

condo cranes are angels poised again to strike.