[A poem from B.N., the next in the series:]
Know What to Expect
In winter it is
always poverty-
stricken. The blue coat, Good Will,
the brown shoes, Salvation.
Trains and rates of exchange
are never exact. The Mafia
coins protection,
silver is change,
and destiny is a set
of tracks left in the snow.
I spend my life as I
always knew I would:
at the window—
small-boned and
the day is gone.
So, finally you confess,
the drowsy eye sees
the stars with long tentacles,
the sky with its enormous
blue-smear, the kid with his
minute red kite,
the surface tension
the way electricity
scrambles on the water
of pools. It was here
that we first recognized prophecy,
seven light-years
Let's just say
seven dark ones.
B.N.
© to the author 1983-2010
Know What to Expect appeared previously in Gulf Coast