Battery
Street
Black
feet splay
the bleak puddles. Rain
gear from the neck
down—no hats, but
a stream of dark
umbrellas.
Runnel
of somber coats. Coursing
sturdy cases. One
baffled woman stands
sodden from rude
taxis,
cars, the 1
California. Her red
coat a delta. Her limp,
dumb body turning
the river, parting,
east
and west. Red
umbrella, crushed,
drifts. The rain
falls and
is wet.
©1998
Tamar Lov
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