Hand in hand;
Standing by the waste bin,
Looking for a foul play-
A game of chess-
I thought it would be more poetic than this.
Standing by the waste-bin.
Back of the cafeteria, I saw-
Not saw, stared, aware-
Of the girl I had cared for;
But was mine no more.
The waste-bin was full of candlesticks-
Had been on the fireplace;
And music filled the house, like grace-
I knew my place with her hand in my hand;
and longed to go back to Summerland.
A place ineffable, indefinably pure-
And I could see it no more;
My memory saw it in a moving image;
It masked the tin lid near the waste-bin-
Where I sat as she walked past.
It was summer after all-
No time for candlesticks and magic tricks,
Of love and lust or a gust of wind-
Though it was already the past-
I put the lid on the waste-bin-
And waited for Summerland anew to begin.
It never did.