Summer 2008 • Vol. XXX No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2008 |

They Are People in a Line

They are simply people in a line. Each one has his own elsewhere to be. Their shoes have touched the grounds of clean and dirty Places in this town, but now a sign—An arrow—points them forward through a tall And winnowing rotunda to be assessed For what each hopes will be his own success But is, in truth, something very small. The stanchion where the velvet rope arrives Does not care if one promotes his cuff links Or one his do-rag, and does not know what fame Each knows outside the line. Each must abide Until his turn to answer in black ink: What color are your eyes? What is your name?

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