She walks by

She walks by with her wonderful hair and an expression of apathy. I watch her, blue. Birds fly by too. Across the field bulldozers are moving the earth. A dog is whining and wetting a doorstep. The cool wind blows the other way. It will bring rain. Already the air is damp and the sunlight is dampened by a sky that collects gray clouds like all the faces of the people walking by. They don’t know me; they don’t smile.

November 1972