Black earth holds him with uneasy fingers.
Her fingers must caress the felt with pressure.
Once, a canary serenaded his expedition.
Canary-haired women wear her art.
His dinner bucket holds his ham and cheese, his chips and coffee.
She eats at the counter, shaking crumbs off a linen skirt and cotton blouse.
He is always wiping dirt from off his face and checking his fingernails that will not bleach.
She bleaches her blouse on weekends while watching old movies and sketching hats on magazine back covers.
He will die young.
She will go blind and die young.
He will go to the grave in black earth that will ease his pain.
She will not see her hair uncovered lying sweet and smooth on the satin.