The policeman is here. I’m five in braids. The officer doesn’t see me. The landlady shook, shook, shook her dust mop over laundry my
Too cold to take the geraniums outside. Today I tried to air the wet alpaca sweater. It froze to rigor mortis in minutes, icicles
Late-May, and it’s safe at last here in Connecticut to plant impatiens, my wife unloading flats of them, red and white by the mailbox,