No one reads this anyway...

Woman on 2nd St., Reading

The women are gathered on the street to dance.
Their hands pull flowers from the median,
raking them together with yellow scissors.
Their coats are full as though stuffed with birds.
                               
Their hands pull flowers from the median,
a simple form of currency that smells lovely.
Their coats are full as though stuffed with birds
and their pockets are filled with roots and birdseed.

It's a simpler form of currency that smells nice,
and it'll get a cracked teapot at Sadie's.
Her pockets are full of roots and birdseed
that she hands to the woman, her hands to hands.

She'll get a cracked teapot from Sadie's
and she'll make tea in it from Second Street flowers
that she handed to the woman, hands in hands.
Her hands are the ones that dug the flowers.

She'll make tea from Second Street flowers,
and pour it in the birdbath on the roof.
Her hands (the ones that dug the flowers)
are wide like spades, cold at evening.

Pouring tea in the birdbath on the roof
she'll dream of baths & touch her hands,
wide like spades, as cold as evening.
The birds are dancing on the Second Street flowers.

She dreams of baths & touches her hands.
Tomorrow, the ground will be just a bit colder.
The birds will dance on the Second Street flowers.
The women will gather on the street to dance.

to Dad