it’s not like i’m attached

to all these camelcoats,

long, short &

floppy (big buttons),

short & tight (big

buttons): i mean i would give them just

give them

to any girl off the bus,

stairs tar black corduroy

and the driver, her relaxed

hair, wide-wheels through left

turn signals in deep, slovenly

rain, i’d give her one.
it’s just when i get stuck across

town in the rain by that fish

shop overlooking the ocean,

whole rows of these

fish shops and it’s raining, then

i do need a coat as i wait like

my pig-tailed chewing lips debated

for mother to pick up but

it’s so far away and there’s

nothing worse than your

teenager having some

job where you hafta go

fetch her half across
but when you get a large green

newsmelly plush, well you still

don’t want to be at the

beck-&-call of some teenage
& your progeny’s buying a little sportscar like a girl in a film, even a

European

& she just wonders, mother

Victoria, oh Victoria!—the map of

where i was,

please
He gave narrative, tenderness,

solicitude & doubt. photos of the two

of us labelled everywhere. I walk through shelves and streets of