889. TIMOTHY

TIMOTHY
Take a pose. Any.
And they all roll in.
One after the other,
the Tinker Street crowd.
Swear they are happy, all.
Even about the snow in Buffalo.
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There comes a point
(in every asylum) where
nothing matters any longer.
A residual timeclock is ticking.
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The craftsman strolls in.
Plasterer or drywall, or something.
White painter clothes, tool box,
lunch box, bucket, container;
carrying everything in his rough,
knowing hands. Coarse by contrast
to the space around him.
-
Erudition and punctiliousness are
mainstays of another, far more
proper, time. And then here comes
Butler Kendrick, with all his savvy
saunter, to do it all again.