calendar fragment

counting the clock strokes
he enters in his ledger
"black toad at midnight"
present past forever

dermatologist

space aged hospital, glass and steel
three-story atrium sprouts gleaming columns
all atilt, facade more a whirling laboratory
in orbit than a rational, balanced Greek temple

light glances wild all multi-planed, starry
blind you wander among cubicles till nurse
leads you into crazy labyrinth, where young
doctor in collarless sweater, looking for

all the world a Captain Kirk from decades
ago, rolls his wheeled deck chair to and fro
his zapper freezes four spots on your scalp
to protect from solar radiation, he says

solar radiation! who knew trudging
in the increasing dirty dark toward winter
midst twisted stone and ivied brick corridors
of old city that sun would be a threat?

laundromat

in my laundromat folks don't talk much,
although yesterday a young woman asked
where I bought my extra-strength detergent,
the eco-friendly kind

washing machines line the narrow storefront
on the left, the driers on the right, folding
tables in between, and an irregular line of six
old plastic chairs

in my laundromat the AM radio plays
tunes of the sixties and seventies,
Motown and classic rock, my kind
of music

occasionally somebody sings along
but for the most part it's quiet, just
the swish and hum of the machines,
conducive to meditation

when it's crowded, we shepherd our laundry
carts through the crowded aisles, slowly,
careful not to bump into each other, quick
to apologize

that's my favorite part -- the slow and
stately dance, to Motown and classic
rock, weaving among the tables and
the bodies of the other washers

raw November

strange in this raw November to see
pretty women wielding transparent
plastic umbrellas, laughing as though
this were some spring rain, and thrusting
forth an inordinate amount of cleavage,
inordinate considering the season

on the Friday bus ride to City Line
the sun gleams on whited sepulchres,
bone-bleached steeples in the cemetery
thrusting through denuded trees, and the
turbaned swami, a regular on this route,
explains "The Evolution of God" in an outrageous
accent, babu English, to an entranced
old woman, always the same