These are my names for them,
because he impersonated "The King" when
first he came to town.
She wends her way with flowing hair,
naked in her difference:
her body curls painfully into itself--
a question mark of a woman beside
an exclamation point of a man.
Winter and summer, I see them confirm,
step by step, the streets of town,
wade silently, slowly through our curiosity,
propel a shopping cart of clothes and plastic bags.
They ask nothing of me,
yet I am disturbed, un-homed
by their dereliction of the material,
by their undefined devotion to each other.
Pajama-panted prophet, tell us:
What is it, really, between two people?
Hand in his, are you lovers?
Or are you a premonition--
setting us a poignant itinerary
through the rubble of
stock market and real estate and
tumbling of the world we
once built of dreams?
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