chalk on the sidwalk

you get word from your
friend lisa, no, not that lisa,
but the other lisa with red
hair and a kid who once
threw a rock through
a window because she was
on the phone with you.
she tells you
that a publisher in nyc
has taken a look at your
work and likes what he
sees, some gems, he says.
keep at it, one day who
knows we might let you
into the clubhouse.
keep writing kid. you tell
her thank you and hang
up. you go into the kitchen
and take two aspirins,
swallowing them down
with gin as you stare out
the window watching a
kid write with chalk on
the sidewalk. it begins
to rain.