Sonnet: Inviolate Obituary
New York City high-rises cling to their average day,
so you felt obliged to look after them. “A pleasant surprise,”
she snickered. “Happy Birthday, Sister Maurice!”
Ashbery’s reading was SRO, so we went for a walk in
the basement of the Museum of Online Publications, where
half-timbered houses gave quality sap unassociated with
our pain preference, a landmark of sorts. Repeated trips
from Milwaukee to Chicago shed no new light on our problems.
On Bleecker Street, the fabled Zito’s is now out of business.
With nobody around to gainsay whatever she might say was
the truth, Claribelle had a field day. Ever since that morning
we learned (there’d been no way of knowing) that we
could move undetected around the encampment, seeking
lost hymnals and prayer books hidden by the high grass.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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