Your good coat is black wool
with a red fox collar.
My dress is pink nylon
with rhinestone buttons.
We are dressed up that Saturday
you take me to New York.
We ride the bus to the City,
walk from Port Authority
to the Automat for lunch.
There you change
a dollar into nickles,
hand them all to me.
Glass doors pop open
as nickles drop into the slots,
four nickles for red Jello,
seven nickles for lemon meringue pie.
One taken, one replaced.
Here you could never go hungry.
After lunch we stand in line,
buy tickets for the matinee
at Radio City Music Hall,
seats close enough
to see the red shoes
of the Rockettes
kick in time to the music.
They dance before Cinderella,
the feature movie.
After the show
we ride the bus back home.
It smells like diesel fuel.
I am almost sick.
You turn off the seat light.
We sit in the dark.
I fall asleep
dancing with the prince.
© by Tere Sievers.
Used with the author’s permission.
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