From the gray three-decker,

Terry yells all day to her kids,

Georgy and Vincent, on the street below.

She’s young, slick, hair cut

in the poodle style. This is the 50s;

her sweaters have conical breasts.


Something wrong with her marriage

sends Terry out to work; her mother,

in a downstairs flat, watches the boys.

Working for Mr. Siegel, a Boston lawyer,

each morning Terry ambles to the bus.


Her husband’s moved out by now.

Soon the lawyer is driving up

in his huge Lincoln to take her out

for the evening. The whole neighborhood

watches as he waits and she yells,

“Georgy, Vincent, mind Grandma!”


She saunters to the car in crisp dresses,

high heels, newly poodled hair.

So that’s where I grew up, the kind

of neighborhood where married lawyers’

married girlfriends lived.



  1. I envy you your poetic proclivities.

  2. Enjoyed this a lot. paula

    Paula Silbey 845-663-3380


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