February 21, 1993

Planted in cement in the shade,
a ring of light surrounds violas—
impassive in their yellow centers,
yet rooted

Round bedraggled white
impatiens— touch-me-not
— grown up at odd angles
slightly swaying

In the exhaust of 15.19 bus on
El Camino. Knives, spoons clatter.
a convertible roars. Matrons balance
forks full of romaine,

Indolent sprouts— all glasses of
iced tea emptied through clear
plastic straws. Impatiens already
watered. Pavement dark, wet

Under the fountain, waitress with fine red
hair calls out “Debbie, Debbie!”
The impatiens will not stay.

Next week cyclamen, primroses. Cappuccino
drained from the cup. A long-stemmed spoon
left on the saucer. Steamed milk fresh

On the stem. Unlicked lips.