The governor will give Homeless people sleeping bags, Let them stay the night On windswept porticos Outside his buildings Instead of your doorstep. I am talking to myself With empty rooms I cannot bear to live in.
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I Know A Few Things
Old bells wake me up At ten, then the wing snaps Of pigeons skirting the courtyard Bring me to the window, Where the young cosmeticians In their very clean outfits On break check their phones And smoke and laugh among Their number and roll Their beautiful made-up Eyes at me when from above I wish all three of them A good day, then one flicks An ash and blinks twice, Another takes a deep drag, And the third continues To answer the message Her father sent from home, Concerning the death Of the family cow, So white and brown.