Friday Nine to Fiver

To pull crumpled straw fedoras
Dented crowns, bent brims
Out of mom’s closet, from under the couch
And never find my hat

To find a constellation of nickels and dimes
(No quarters, alas)
Scattered on a marble slab
At the lunch hour riverside

To see Jupiter and Diana
Mighty lord, pale huntress
Drawn together in the evening blue
As we walk from the train

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