Sunday Afternoon: The Bronx
TWO POEMS
SUNDAY AFTERNOON: THE BRONX
Face nicks a nodding window pane
Framed in a valentine of dusty lace.
Eyes have in them what hides behind.
A yellow blind is sharply drawn
Upon what shaded noon despair
Where who is caring not for view?
A man in shirtsleeves eats a pear,
A woman's hair droops on the sill,
A girl's hand is a vacant lot,
Until... until...
Through room and room and room and room
Meager hatred, stale unhope.
Child dangles rope by flower pot.
Structure
15 lines · 2 stanzas