But work
Mter either truth, 'For seven days
he did nothing but work' and 'All the week
he did nothing at
all
but sat and stared'
he went about, talked about like that,
in one enormous jumping cherry hat,
and wondered at those words. That he had done
nothing or nothing but work were real wonders
and he began, as I am doing now,
to come apart, being either man,
dealing with his hand of days
in either way, shocking himself with both
blacknesses of work and the drilled holes
of sitting, staring days, and it was these
ciphers, these airs that would begin
to look like the real stars.
MARTHA COLLINS
Down the Road
You think Food and you're fed.
You think Sleep and you disappear.
You wake and you're everywhere.
Then someone points
You, there,
and off you go, in your yellow
slicker and red rubber boots,
