behind
their music stands.
Whaddya
thinka that?
said
the woman, half smoked
Camel
hanging from the corner of her mouth.
2
clarinets, an oboe.
Mozart
"Divertimento"
in
shirt sleeves.
While
the man in the white woven cap
sat
himself comfortably down on the sidewalk,
took
his coffee-to-go from his lavender bag,
unwrapped
his blintz in allegro streetlight;
next
to the red-shirted girl,
licking
her ice cream cone from the side —
one
scoop vanilla, one scoop chocolate on top.
The
woman yanked the stuck cigarette
from
her mouth, winced,
let
it drop, looked
at
the windows to Mozart's left:
REMNANTS
SALE
There
was no sour cream on the blintz.
Chocolate
ran down the side of the cone.
The
woman scowled at the rugs.
"Divertimento"
became "Kleine Nachtmusik'1
as
a white shirt - short sleeves - no tie
walked
by, dropped a bill in the oboe case
on
the walk in front of the guy in the middle
lined
with blue velvet and lots of change.
The
car we were leaning on
started
up suddenly,
then
drove off
with
the rest of the piece.
--Mark Chain
Mark Chain is also the author of a bilingual series of
poems to works by Picasso and is currently the director of a
cultural center in New Hampshire
