Tea and Ham Sandwiches

they said that he
was gone, gone as the
trees bloomed pink and
later, faded

still he visits her,
dream-enlarged, a little
grave, holding the bluebooks
while tea and ham sandwiches
are served upstairs, the
folding chairs arranged in a
specifically random manner,
the women scowling and
shaking their hair in a
manner meant to convey, at once, great
righteousness and probity

hollow sound of soles slapped against
the wooden boards of the subway
station overpass, the billboard
bleared over by rain, still says
want me, need me, love me