Saturday Evening
He walked in, stooping, as if he carried the weight
of a day without work on his shoulders,
the weight of a muddy city with closed windows
and a hammer that has never struck steel.
Silent Saturday evening. The tavern was full of smoke. A few
sailors were gesticulating and talking. A glass fell
on the floor. No sound was heard.
Only a rope ladder of a ship was drawn on the steamed
windowpane.
Perhaps that ladder led somewhere. Did you pay attention?
It nodded yes with its head. Nothing else.
They sat at the same table. They shared their bread when
the evening sun shone its fiery, wide face and peeked inside.
Then they pulled their chairs aside to dance.
