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