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"
For
luck
,
my
love
.
And
it
worked
.
"
It
rained
on
Sunday
,
July
third
,
as
it
must
,
fat
drops
more
wet
than
usual
.
We
nudged
our
way
in
the
damp
segmented
worms
of
traffic
,
feeling
a
little
grand
and
helpless
and
lost
,
like
cage
-
bred
birds
set
free
,
and
frightened
as
freedom
shows
its
teeth
.
Mary
sat
straight
,
smelling
of
fresh
-
ironed
cotton
.
"
Are
you
happy
—
are
you
gay
?
"
"
I
keep
listening
for
the
children
.
"
"
I
know
.
Aunt
Deborah
called
it
happy
-
lonesome
.
Take
flight
,
my
bird
!
Those
long
flaps
on
your
shoulders
are
wings
,
you
juggins
.
"
She
smiled
and
nuzzled
close
.
"
It
’
s
good
,
but
I
still
listen
for
the
children
.
I
wonder
what
they
are
doing
now
?
"
"
Almost
anything
you
can
guess
except
wondering
what
we
are
doing
.
"
"
I
guess
that
’
s
right
.
They
aren
’
t
really
interested
.
"
"
Let
us
emulate
them
,
then
.
When
I
saw
your
barge
slide
near
,
O
Nile
serpent
,
I
knew
it
was
our
day
.
Octavian
will
beg
his
bread
tonight
from
some
Greek
goatherd
.
"
"
You
’
re
crazy
.
Allen
never
looks
where
he
’
s
going
.
He
might
step
right
out
in
traffic
against
a
light
.
"
