12/8/80

Lennon died in those few months
I lived on 23rd,
that of the grimy kitchen
whose floor I scrubbed
until the surprise of my housemates
shone in its surface.

Moths in the lampshade
cast shadows in the smoky light,
long dead, the flutter done
of dusty wings.

Kelly came home
after dark. I don't remember
the rain. Our faces opened
with the news. The pot on the stove
sputtered and stopped.