What is the afternoon for
but to listen to the sonata
of footprints peering at
pictures hanging on plaster walls?
Perhaps a little child searching
peanuts and parables?
A saraband of gentle sounds
whisper the turning of pages.
I utter causes socialistic,
evoking from the DAR:
"Do you want ruin this country?'
And I pause to swivel in my chair
and think of little people
who lie dying
in the corner of streets
unpaved with human kindness.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS