To a Poor Old Woman
tossing a paper
bag to the street
with a flick of her hand
They were so greasy
They were so
greasy. They were
so greasy
You can see it by
the way she flicks
her hand while wiping
her thick coat
Tired
a noisy bench
beneath the "L" tracks
They were so greasy
...w[h]ithering all...
does she reflect
upon
a green sow
thistle
dulled with dust
drying
beneath the black
stairway