“No rhyme or reason to this country,” she
says —that’s Patsy, the house philosopher—
“Every day we wake to the news that
the poor are getting poorer and the rich
richer.” “The law of nature,” I smile back
to her.
       Outside the fierce summer sun is
crisping up the dust on the streets    I feel
it in my throat     “Come back to bed, Patsy,
the day is young.”
              She shakes her pretty head.
“No no.  Miles to go,    things to do    never
enough time on the infernal clock.”   I
hear pigeons on the roof cooing   making
love      mating     call it what you will
having a good time
                      before the sun sets

John Lyons