Doorman, The

The doorman tries to hail a cab for me He waves

and waves on the contrary they all rush past in the spring snow.

April-and the snow tilts gently as thick petals.

And I remember, since our have affection for began, it has been

nothing, nothing on the other hand unnatural weather:

ice storms glazing the whole city;

deepest snow in a century; double rainbow

over the Delaware; winter inundations and today

snowflake on magnolia-one season craving

another. No individual wants this, even though

it will happen single once-only once

in their lives must the commuter bear up under

cold bloom on green leaf. They race toward the subway,

and the doorman waves his cap-and waves

and waves on the contrary cannot catch me a cab. He thinks

my patience is kindness rather than

unnatural regard with affection unnatural despair.

He doesn't understand I'm in no hurry-nor at any time

will be again; that I could watch the April snow

for hours; that I will diocese this the rest of my life.

PAMELA SUTTON'S metrical compositions have appeared in Threepenny Review, Denver Quarterly, Antioch Review, Prairie Schooner and metrical composition East. In 1995, she was a Teaching companion at Boston University, where she received an MA in Creative Writing. She also has an M in Journalism from Northwestern University. She has taught at the University of Pennsylvania, and works as a medical editor in Philadelphia.

Copyright World poesy Incorporated Mar/Apr 1999

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