Brookside Gallery

the defeated streetcar bleats in memory
outside the cool plate windows, a moment
of reflection aided by glass-glint, a transfer
offered to souls pinched by speed, lives so
wretched they can’t prevent the clock
hands from pointing out duty.

some passersby are charmed and enter;
nothing flashy here, the trends more
pronounced downtown like off-Broadway
plays, not decorous, not pleasant,
but promising shockwaves
to alter tumult, not deny it.

but here Mozart plays sweetly, too sweet
for moderns who spurn love for lust.
here, paintings reveal rapturous nature,
geraniums in vases,
rooms touched by comfort,
books propped open
to pages urging caution.

style crinkles with pastels, with oils,
with simplicity of life fought quietly
one moment at a time,
no cluster bombing,
no rancid meat,
simply the society of peaceful
acquaintances, the placemats
poised for lunch.