Mr. James Clancy
When the women come by with their blood smells
Alive in the chalky morning,
He is right at their smiles like a tiny, quick bird,
His black, dotted eyes saying 'mornings' and 'evenings'.
And they are proud to glimpse him in his brisk, open friendships,
This man they know vaguely, but very well so.
In their drab circles, they will talk of his talk,
And his tiny, quilt smile;