81
There she'd
be beside me in our big
brass bed looking southwest down
into Central Park. Shiny from her
bath, she'd wear pale orange parachute
material. I'd be reading, she'd be sing-
ing her scales, wrinkling her infant
pink nose, and slaying me by singing
through it:
"nee, nee, nee, nee...
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New York City
June 1985