Classic Poem

With strollers loitering
here, you see, is a street in a lonesome alley of the eighteenth century or so,
blue, green, red flags moving flabbily,
in a bay window of the past a tin hat is on display.
Why is there a town like this, so deep with feeling?
the sundial's time has stopped,
there's no store or market to shop in, anywhere.
Things like fragments of an old shell were dug out
and they were, you see, rusted black in the sand of the fort grounds
I don't know what to do
I'll be walking only the barren areas where human beings live their lives like this.
The figures of elderly ladies
are much like ducks and chickens
and in that part of the retina that reflects, a scarlet cloth flutters.
What a sad twilight;
things like elephants swarm
and roam here and there in front of the post office.
" Ah where shall I send my epistolary letter? "