Days come tumbling one over the other
In silent succession
Talking to me in familiar gestures—
Now the municipal garbage gatherer
Emptying the bin of yesterday’s waste,
Then the stout unsmiling milk vending dame
Carrying light her kettle and measure,
The newspaper boy flinging the day's fare
With the same precision over the gate,
The twin-jingle of his bycycle bell
Vanishing round the corner of the street...
I keep reciting the lines again and again
As though learning by heart
The jingle of an old rhyme.
*****
