were dripping
with sarcasm. They
soaked the back of
my red velvet coat with

contempt. I stood still
as a statue. The water pigeons
shot their dropping on
me, as bombs. I pined for him

to pull me in. But the needles
of the pine stuck into me,
as a cork in a bottle of bubbly. The man
is aching from this afternoon. His eyes hung

down to his trousers. I, in the showers
of the eaves stepped back and saw
the rain in my spot. We danced inside
a house of mirrors. As I left the sky grew clearer.