Lee Butterman

When the sun had set, but the streetlamps didn't yet go on,

I saw the comics and the clowns performing in Harvard Square.

As I was looking at a man on a unicycle

Juggling an apple, a bowling pin, and a double-edged sword,

A pea soup fog started rolling in.

It was full-bodied and thick, and it gave

A warm blanket to the cobblestones and asphalt.

As I caught sight of a woman painting with airbrushes,

The fog obscured my toes and sandals.

And all of the balloon sculptors were out putting smiles on young

Freckle-faced kids twenty feet away, and their old

Mid-life perplexed parents, and their ancient

Second-childhood grandparents.

And by the time the balloon artists would have shaped

A thousand plastic cranes, they would have gained inner tranquility

And outer solvency to pay off college loans.

Wide-streeted Harvard Square now had fog up to my knees and thighs

That were rounder than usual since I drowned out issues at home and work

With an octet of milkshakes, all different flavors, and I choked

My conflicts with a family size pecan pie all for me.

A college undergrad told some people that he couldn't afford a therapist

So he went to a handwriting analyst, and found out that

He had abandonment issues, claustrophobia, and decidedly obnoxious ls.

The pea-soup fog was at my neck

And had disembodied all of the tourists who had come

For the spectacle, so I started returning home,

Three blocks off the Square.

I took one last look at the heads,

Bodiless and nameless, and shut the door alone.