Rain of a summers day.
The doors of the bar are thrown open to the street
It's tempting to step out of the weather,
to seek asylum amongst old men.
But my father is dead,
And Stephen has quit drinking.
Now all the old men are young again,
And their wives too are young.
The young men rest their freshly shaven faces
On the shoulders of their young wives,
And bight them gently on the neck
and from their washing of dishes
they lift them off their feet,
And across the kitchen
And through the doors
thrown open to the street.