for Ronald Rowe
He descends
with me
and carries
up
lumps of
cement
and splintery
old boards
and sweeps
the broken glass
the heaps,
the hoards
of half-finished,
never-read, never-sent
abandoned-
but-not
abandoned-
enough
the torn,
worn
frustrated
garments
fraying, moth-eaten—
when
that is done
he goes
for lunch
and writes
a poem
about the sapphire
crystalline sphere,
split
facings of
the star dome
the infinite
at Hi-Fi
Pizza over a
slice
then goes
to McDonald’s
for
coffee.
by Monica Raymond

















