no, it was just an ordinary day
no idea of suburban choke
no way out of a street named after a
president whose name sounds
like a candy.

no, it was building in routine
the time it takes to travel to from a lab &
back & to sweep the floor of a church
for an extra hundred dollars a week.

no, it was growing up, or growing out
remodeling a railway that died in the
sixties, keeping track of hockey players stats
cards that consoled when lined up

and never running away from shadows

response

lab assistant, young with the periodical table in
her eyes, readable & open intentions--protons
rotating around the nuclease at
greater & greater speeds--
element stacked upon element,
centrifuged & distilled to a
small electric spasm.

Now whenever she sees the widower scientist,
eyes to the ground.