Looking
out over the neighborhood,
she
and I watched the action at the station
for
the commuter train;
She
is stretched into a straight line
lounging
like a colorful celebrity
looking
out at the night;
I
feel I should apologize
for
tormenting her with the business
of
my own loose problems;
She
stretches her back
and
becomes once again interested
in
my problems and the view
of
Saturday night Chicago;
I
talk to her of trouble
and
she gives me a look
with
her shining eyes;
Daytime
seems so far away,
as
we watch red vans;
I am
speculating
as
to the meaning of the look on her face,
secrets
she has;
Her
eyes glow;
She
is living here with me,
watching
bicycle deliveries go by;
She
glances at the end tables
and
then back to the avenue
where
the people meander eastward
From
here she can see the river
and
the kids with baseball gloves;
those
damnable strip malls,
that
moved in from the suburbs;
Mostly
she sees my complaints
and
she listens with the most caring silence
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