Indian gentleman elegant in his
overcoat arrives mid-morning
at the office tucked into a high
rise right off Wall Street, an
ashbreath from Ground Zero –
his presence sells “security,” thumbdrive
holding pictures of his daughter,
beloved community back home in
Virginia, glossy, up-to-date, backed up,
all behind the firewall, serene

inextricably linked to President Kennedy’s assassination
when the announcement came, she started to cry
while the rest of us stood and prayd Hail Mary’s
she had to be taken out of the classroom

– WHY –

she didn’t know him, was it just the shock?

her trolls had glitter in their earlobes

systems guy – smart, a software
“architect” and funny, fun to
work with – but most absorbing,
tidbits from his private life –
townhouse up on Jasmine Hill
his lovely fragile wife the murals
blue and purple on their walls
(did I imagine them?) and –
he had his stickstraight salt-
‘n-pepper hair permed regularly

girls coming to intake at
the clinic – shy embarrassed desperate
or otherwise concerned – confronted
with sunny senorita’s stunning smile
charisma covering her casual mistakes
and telephone tango in the middle
of their interview – exasperating but
radiant with Spanish charm, pride
from her father’s side, scorned
stability from her Mayan mother’s