STALWART REVANCHNIK
I've watched the gliding window glide, passing
by, backlit from a wondrous place of somewhere
else : the fair hollow of Stuyvesant, or the end
of e11th, by the 'Russian Souvenirs' store. Funny
how time takes things a'rowing. The guy here,
Peter, he's sitting in the nearby park making lists
of things he's carried there, things he's left, the
stolen and forgotten items. I ask him why, and
what things he means. He answers, "Well, for
instance, last week Joe lost a pair of shoes' They
hid them on him, in the bushes somewhere, and
I've not been able to find them anywhere." So
I said, "Well how do you like that? Taking the
thieves' word for where they hid things!" He
laughed, and said he hadn't thought of that.
-
The willow is growing strong; some wisteria as
well and, off the back along the fence, those sumac
plants are zooming. Two-men high, they grow as
if wild and on their own. Which they are. No one
ever really comes here, except that one guy always
playing some tweaky jazz on his cartoon sax, and
the two kids always entwined, and those kids, over
from Ave. A somehow, honing their skill at being
pesky. Slow, slow, slow, the cop car prowls
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