From the front seat of the Honda
when I sometimes turned the radio off,
from under the reading lamp, once or twice I did look up.
While riding the stationary bike, within what I rented
and renovated I did hear . . .
(I had to pick up the girl and stop at the store)
but every once in a while
pulling the hangers along the rack,
rising up on the escalators of NIKETOWN with its piped-in sound of sweat
or standing in the elevator alone. Was it a shout?
I slumped in the chair watching The Sopranos.
An ocean far off? Children screaming?
I lay on the couch watching Six Feet Under.
Tell me –
Perhaps a person is being held for questioning.
And no one knows where that person is
or what will be done to her, and no one will ever know.
Does it matter – do you think – how that person conducts herself?