Sunday Noon

On Sunday at noon walk through the city
saunter over the dike and through the alleys
loiter at a window, stopped by sudden rain
and study the reflections in a silver salver

wishing you were one of the two who just
took the cues from the rack, and then
disinterestedly give heed to one’s toilet
or peer out of a little window

across the street at telephone wires
at a broken statue on a balcony
empty flowerpots on the ledges

and plan at evening to walk to the station
to watch the trains come in and depart
and remain behind on the silent platform.