|
A house in the purple
neighborhood, on Baltic, say,
hunkered under hulking
mill buildings rising behind it
and exhausted steam clouds
roiling higher still,
was never worth much,
but it could be a start
in the right direction
although one-way streets
leading nowhere and back
littered the whole plat
and would afford
nearly adequate shelter,
wisteria clinging
to the bony trellis
at the south end
of the front porch
giving off a whiff of solace
from time to time,
or the cherry tree in the backyard
shivering now and then
with some rumor of happiness
only drab flitting sparrows
would ever know anything about,
because $200 lost or gained,
either way, was always a fortune.
|
|