EXHIBITION

Where will there be, what
to return to, fix on,
identify by?

O'Looney's grocery
has persimmons
in the window, day-old
bread every day.
A block away the lambrequin
manufacturer's door is locked, one down
from the Galeria, the consortium
where "real" means
not the paint he speaks of
but what we see
easily, anywhere,

We know
the wicker bird-cage
is empty, is
inexpensive.
The Thrift Shop cabinets,
the dresser cheap
someone sat before,
the jewelry free
to believe in.
The lamp built
into Buddha's head
may not shine, the cross
attached to Christ
come off.

If I, as animator,
stand the lady
of the La Creole up
inside her canned-goods store,
will she still bring change
in broken Espanol,

the Lighthouse deacon lead
the single tambourine,
the two full rows
of folding chairs,
to prayer,

the cripple take
his apple box
to the old location?

What of it
will be there,
if I stay
to collect?

Will the courtesan in John's
Chinese-American restaurant
still wear
her green uniform,
the pensioners talk
to animals,
the laundryman walk his wife,
the turtle dive
into her trainer's
free stein of beer?

If I collect them,
will they stay
as fat as
the newspaper vendor
is?