Fifty years the butcher shop br has hung these animals on hooks br to cure. The stationery store br dispenses the same old news, br same change, a little less silver; br ladies in a beauty shop desire br the perfect permanent. br Mornings this bright br cast the deepest shade; br everything seems to come br from memory. The subway’s elevated. br br Down the block toward the river Bronx br each yard has a chain-link fence, a dog br attracted to the random noise. br The woman no one knows is dead is still br in the chair by the bedroom plant. br Stripes advance from the blind br to her lap, slower than the human br eye can see. Above the accidents br of traffic you can hear br her clock and clean refrigerator hum.