Four Poems

In the Guest Room

The young man in damson velvet pants
and in the subway the scarred aerialist
I abruptly hugged
and had to hurry away from

lest I be held for questioning—what
are they thinking
right now?
Is he carefully

picking up the new kittens one by one
and examining them
before he drops them in the sack?
Or is she running through

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