See the nymph on the brink

feeling no trace of fear.

Looking cold in hot pink,

see the nymph on the brink.

Cars crash. Boys crack. Eyes wink.

Twirling strands of rock hair,

see the nymph on the brink

feeling no trace of fear.

Is it wrong to protest:

"Is your mother around?

Does her absence attest?

Is it wrong to protest

she did not do her best

carving into that crown?

Is it wrong to protest?

Is your mother around?"

See her stoic, hard look

scanning holy rooftops,

wristwatch, hand bag, that book.

See her stoic hard look

at that woman with hooks

hanging clothes in thrift shops.

See her stoic hard look,

scanning holy rooftops:

"Mother minds her party,

not so much this railing

Daddy gilt so smartly.

Mother minds her party

favors for her gentry

come to bid her sailing."

Mother minds her party;

not so much this railing

constant nymph of concrete.

Seagulls, vultures, gargoyles

lurk in darkness, discrete

constant. Nymph of concrete,

eye-lined, shadow-thick streets.

Daddy's rich ore hard-boils

constant, nymph of concrete

seagulls, vultures, gargoyles.