IN THE LINGUAL, TEN A.M.
The essential part of the matter was the
brown tables, how they stayed in the sun,
where people could sit. Wood never really
lasts, but these are cared for, and the seats
kept clean. Afternoon loungers leaning back
with their drinks. Two waiters walking to
and fro, a manager, watching what goes.
Here, by the sun that paints the yellowing
walls, two women sit to talk. The cart with
the bells and trinkets goes by, some old
man selling worthless things for seven
dollars and fifty-five. At a nearby
puddle, a small bird has a bath.