In Corona

TWO POEMS

IN CORONA

Even the poorest Italians in Corona

persuade fondly

gardens in weary back-yards.

Early spring

they turn darker soil sunwards,

at one with the tottering decorative

of banisters, roofs,

green and rose paints curling.

Small trees straggling,

soft-cheeked babies blossoming wide-eyed;

petals dusty through profusion.

Open-shirted at sun-down,

men with lovers' patience

wheedle the sandy Long Island soil.

IT WAS ALMOST