her indignant loud blather
scrapes the sun-mottled sidewalk
her practised syllables rippling
through the shivering locust leaves
the hoarse female cigarette voice
accusatory rhythmical hard edged
slices the hapless rough lout
pushing the baby carriage
as she pulls the wagon of groceries
she pauses to bark at the universe
resumes the earnest litany
but we can no longer hear these
incantations of a faith we do not hold
she is entitled to her catechism
as are we to our private jokes
and simple satisfaction
we held our debates years ago
in private
now we smile and speculate on
how much we have yet to learn
