8809. 'IF IT'S DOWN THERE ALREADY IT CANNOT FALL NO MORE'

'IF IT'S DOWN THERE ALREADY IT CANNOT FALL NO MORE'

Yes, yes, I've got plenty of ideas. Mr. Misfit 

lives right here. Closing my eyes only brings

me a memory. More of that and I'll be gone.

I can never tell myself exactly what I want:

a glandular table to place things upon, or

a nice soft floor where things can land

as they fall. Outside the Milano Deli,

those girls insist on eating in threes.

-

One wears the scarf of a foreign land;

something about Gay Paree. The other

has, in one of her hands, a new telescope,

in a box. New York people often use

them, from upper floors  -  looking out,

or down, or  -  so I've read  -  just across

the way at what their neighbor does. All

so true, but patently eerie.

-

There is a third girl, but I won't tell. She's

been forced to make this trio, I know.

Doesn't look it, can't be right, won't fit 

in. An eyelash of discontent. A shadow

of alienation. The doubting hands

of a female Thomas.