On February 17th of that year
(1945, it was a Saturday)
I was wearing my birthday watch and I
ran like hell between the raindrops
unaware that even a secret wish is in a way
a contract. That afternoon
I was sporting a
huge red cap which seen from afar
gave me the appearance
of a ladybug riding an ant
to an all-cartoon matinee.
Upstairs over the theatre was
a beauty parlor, Madeleine’s, where
ladies sat under the driers like popes
perusing Cosmopolitan and McCall’s, my mom