Poet, Performer, Pansy

We begin at a train station

and make our way downtown

like two left shoes

blown lopsidedly across the ground

falling slowly up the stairs

and onto the street

The sky writes a prelude to a storm

Your hair is grey

greyer than it was before

Something brews far beyond us

You take my arm

as we drift past Tompkins Square Park

and ask if we can go see the dogs

The air sogs

I worry about the state of the air

You point and declare 

that that dog

looks just like our old Voltaire

Something brews far beyond us

We take no note

The sky breaks

and we tumble our way out of the street

with a tender lack of urgency

knowing full well that my hips

and your knees

only have so high a top speed

“This store used to be something else.”

I say though unsure myself

“Yes it was a different store.  

Which was different also than it was 

even before.” 

“Oh yes.

Oh yes!

I remember.”

We take two seats

underneath some posters advertising God knows what

You pat my hand

The rain pours in ambitious sheets

We listen

It’s the only sound we need

Something brews far beyond us

We take no note

All of it isn’t ours any longer