A girl on the stairs listens to her father Beat up her mother. Doors bang. She comes down in her nightgown. The piano stands there in the dark Like a boy with an orchid. She plays what she can Then she turns the lamp on. Her mother's music is spread out On the floor like brochures. She hears her father Running through the leaves. The last black key She presses stays down, makes no sound Someone putting their tongue where their tooth had been.
Whether or not the park was safe
she was going in. A study concluded, for a park
to be successful there had to be women.
The man next to the monument must have broken
away from her. Perhaps years
before. That the bond had been carnal is obvious.
He said he was just out clearing his head.
They followed the walk of pollarded pears. His tone
distant but not disinterested. It was
an expensive suit, she could tell by the cut.
His face blocked by the felted hat. The cocked night
studded with satellites. Women
were known not to enter a park
if they smelled urine. They passed under the arch
together. At this point, he allowed, it
would be fine by him if he could sit at his desk
and watch his writing happen.