A View from the Library

Outside I see a salty man sit down
Beside a long green bush, a cane between
Cracked hands, warmed shoulders fidgeting and drowned
In sun that’s falling frankly and obscene
On every blaze of color strutting by.
Each rush of cool and perfumed air brings high
His balding head, to watch with narrowed eyes
The rushing, hurried bodies flaunting by.
That bush so blunt and green beside the wall
Could be a train going to Kentucky.
He could be waiting to escape the fall
Of maple leaves and dying hazel-greens
That vex him like the student bodies
Streaming past, their precious books like trophies.


—Eric Nelson