| Two Poems Adam Sass |
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Rosie The old woman with a little boy's haircut Bends over between the tourists' tables And spanks her own bottom. Then she is dancing, Spinning, clapping, high-stepping To an accompaniment of nervous laughter That to her is just laughter. "Why aren't you dancing?" she cries. "Dance with me!" And some do, bemused men Who rise from their sidewalk tables And take a few turns in the street with her As their wives shake their heads, smiling, | And Rosie clutches them close, Her hands wandering downwards. She is famous around town, Conjuring rueful smiles, Arched eyebrows, And a single question: "Was she drunk?" At your table she relates stories of Distant family, Canadian winters, a house abandoned. It's bullshit, all bullshit, And she's finally shaken it off And come to ground in this hot place. "They all think I'm crazy up there anyway," she says,  | |||
