YANCY DERRINGER
In the 14th year of my dishabille
when I was already 50 years old,
I noticed you skulking my edges
like a dog sniffing some other poop.
The weeds were high enough to
hide things, but I was always afraid
to bend down. I kept with me a small
handgun, something they used to call
a Derringer. It would suffice, should
you make a sudden move.
-
I knew the line you came from : another
mother in disarray, a father in the madhouse,
early. It didn't matter, and I knew I could
match you one-to-one. I can't remember
more than that : There used to be a TV
show, when I was little, called
Yancy Derringer?
-
Now? I don't know. I can sit at Logan
Circle all day long, just watching the
watery spray slide down the old green
sculptures. Calder's you know; though
the father, not the so-more famous son.
I wonder how they say that in religion?
The Free Public Library? The new
Barnes Museum? The old cathedral,
when the Pope made a visit?
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