It’s OK; I didn’t take the morphine,

so I get to sit longer by the window

happily watching nothing happen

out on the one-way life cul-de-sac

asparkle in no deposit-no return trash.

Play something bluesy.

                                              She had

a laugh that made onlookers smile.

Her thumbs were exquisite.   Once

she changed her name to gliding bird

and you had to look up to see her.

            There are fields beyond

just corn stubble this time of year

dreary ground even in this slanting light.

If I could hear, there’d be a distant diesel horn

and her voice calling from another room.