falling through the cracks
like
kid gloves stretched tight
white plaster, smooth cream
sand and smear buff
until the crack is gone.
my father guides my hand
like this all in one stroke
the smell of putty
sand and clay and powder dust
A perfect wall,
flawless
pores gape, big mouthed with age
eyes sag,
hag face, paint peels
plaster crumbles, yellows
wrinkles form, cracks open
an
old woman trips
coins and pepper mints
fly from her hand bag
we gather round to see
into the
cracks
the hollow
bowels of the city
ringing all the way
big quarters, little dimes
money
down the drain.
men with wine glazed faces
dirty men with dirty hands
and boxes, so many boxes
huddle in the crotch of the church
between
buttresses and boxes
quietly,
collecting change
as it falls
through