A Meeting

Night. Greasy rainbows

swim in alley pools. Fragile glories

reveal themselves like a priceless heart

hidden in costume jewels.

At the feet of gray tin garbage cans

the cabbage leaf and fish head

hold their tête-à-tête. I am coming.

Silent as the city,

trotting on tiny feet.

Soul of the city;

It’s epigram;

Nonchalant

and selfish.

Moving towards you, I

who passed all else by.

The rain upon the pavement

is like a black rubber rain slicker.

The alley’s red brick face

is a face of authority,

a cop.

When you pass this way by daylight

it will all be addresses,

acts and facts;

the bricks are made of bricky mud,

the cop waits for his bus.

Is this all that it is-

that we keep different hours

or different hours keep us?

Dawn. The sky creaks open.

Swim up from your dreams,

I am coming.

Soon you will proffer, and I accept

the chipped blue bowl of cream.

You kneel down in pink terrycloth;

I look up and purr.

My pink tongue rasps your thumb,

I fill your palm with fur.

© Larry Haworth 1983