Instrumental

This is what it is sometimes:
the papers sound like papers
people walking like people walking,
there is no tomfoolery, it is just a deli
they meant no more than to make you want it.

But some mornings a train pulls into the kitchen
when you are sniffing the milk, shops tally up
as you slump arms across a hired bicycle, sun block
on your lips, feet in water, waiting for the cargo to cross.