Wait for her
To bring the car around
She’ll take two of them home
And leave the rest
For another day
The boy she selects
Can’t be more than nineteen
The other one
Has a scar on his lower lip
That either came from a bar fight
Or a childhood fall
She likes the look of them
As they take up space
In her backseat
Her old Latin teacher
Rings out in her mind
Reminding her
That she is a descendant of greatness
That she falls out of Queens
Out of the history of importance
Not just the idea of it
Not just the idea of it
Her pinky finger
Taps on the steering wheel
And when they pull up to her house
She lets the car run for a little while
So she can finish listening
To Patti Smith
She hasn’t smoked in years
But she could go for a cigarette right now
Something about the boy
With his head against
The back window
Makes her want to unwind
His forehead leaves a little bit of fog
On the glass
And she wonders what's on his mind
His forehead leaves a little bit of fog
On the glass
And she wonders what's on his mind
Out in the garden
She points to things
That need tidying up
Some overgrown weeds
A dirt pile next to the pool
The low-hanging tree branches
That keep tapping
Against the window
She gives them their assignments
And then retires to the dining room
So she can sip a strong drink
And watch them work
The boy moves quickly
Obviously wanting this
To be over fast
He's diligent
Hard-working
Which was something
She hadn’t expected
She thought if she took home a young one
They’d take at least a few hours
To get everything done
The young ones usually move slow
So they don’t have to go back to the lumber yard
And pick up a second job for the day
They get paid for how long they take
So why rush?
But this boy wanted to get out of here
He was moving like a maniac
Around the yard
And it was pissing her off
Until she noticed the man
He was leaning up against
The tree
With the low-hanging branches
His shirt was ripped
In a few good places
Not like those over-priced
Distressed shirts
Her son likes to wear
These were real rips
Real tears
Letting everybody know
That he earned
That he earned
His distress
While the boy worked
The man leaned back
And watched her
Watch them
He rubbed his hands
And sugar smirked
Like he was
In on some joke
Like he knew
Where the camera
Was hidden
She kept looking at him
Not wanting to show weakness
Not wanting to hint at
What was under that dirt pile
Next to the pool
An index finger
Was sticking up
Out of the top of the pile
But the boy hadn’t noticed it yet
He was too busy
Pulling weeds
The man with the ripped shirt
Approached the glass
That separated
The dining room
From the patio
From the yard
Where the roses get watered
With clear-water sweat
And blue soil mercy
The man put his hand
Up against the glass
As she leaned back
Into her chair
Her drink still cold
And her peppermint robe
Left casually undone
The boy saw the finger
Just as the man took his hand
Placed it lightly against the glass
And made it
Into a fist
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