The old man
in the drawing-room oil
invented the harrow,
or the rake,
or the hoe,
or something.
I didn't learn
whether she
is his daughter
or granddaughter,
his niece, grandniece
or what.

But after seeing
the blue and white awning
playing tunnel from the curb to her front door,
and that furniture,
those rugs,
that statuary,
the marble cupids in the gardens,
and then the puppets who compose her society,
I longed
that some other
had invented the harrow,
or the rake,
or the hoe,
or something,
or that the high forehead
in the drawing-room oil
had been a mere huckster
of shoe laces,
or rhubarb,
or whisk brooms,