At ten A.M. the young
housewife
moves about in
negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband's house.
I pass
solitary in my car
Then again she comes to the curb
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands
shy, uncorseted, tucking in
stray ends of hair, and I compare her
to a fallen leaf.
The noiseless wheels of my car
rush with a crackling sound over
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.
--William Carlos Williams