Newtown, winter.

For the first green river in the snow
turn left;
find it there--
back alleys
of fur-greasy
rats lying
dead outside the
finest restaurant in town.

The dishwasher is there too,
be-aproned and grimy, short sleeves in
mid-winter and
smoking a
cigarette.

Habs are playing tonight, he says.

Big game. Big game.
I think
we're gonna win.