Afraid to take a chance. They pass haphazardly in all directions. Diving into his car. Or yours. Are there no strangers in town? Entering, leaving, crossing. I cross to the window and wave. Everybody looks alike. Pyramids. It must be somebody who has a house in the country. He said he would. Characteristic kinesthetic and tactile deficits on opposite sides of the body. Something clicked somewhere. It’s got to be airtight on the other end. The butterfly-shaped central gray. Who is this man? It was a restful ride. The transition gradual, without sharp demarcation. The house was full of pictures. The night man was gone. Important changes from level to level. I pretend to listen.
Keith WaldropKeith Waldrop (born Emporia, Kansas, 1932) teaches at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, and, with Rosmarie Waldrop, is editor of the small press Burning Deck. Recent books include translations of Anne-Marie Albiach and Claude Royet-Journoud. Forthcoming this spring are three titles: Transcendental Studies, a book of poems (University of California Press), Several Gravities, a book of collages (Siglio Press) and a translation of Baudelaire's Paris Spleen: little poems in prose (Wesleyan University Press).