Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Crossing Delaware

To be honest,
there isn’t much I can
say
about ballet shoes
pointed
in first,
or the way some dancers
comb
their hair
into
big
round
buns.
Mine never holds.
It flops from side to side
like a geriatric breast,
until it finally breaks loose
sending the hair down my back,
in long embarrassing curls.
It’s easy to say
you understand
why note follows note,
or why silence comes
without warning.
But when the Nigerian cab driver turns left without looking,
and you are standing in the crosswalk,
none of it
will matter
anymore.