Yellow silk-wrapped towers
Cocoon of safety for passers by
What transformations hidden
Are signaled by the grindings and poundings
That mars my noontime slumber
Purple pantaloon-clad workers flit about you
High school dropouts, butterflies in Elvis hair
Wielding power tools and overpriced cigarettes
They tear away your old memories
And bolt in a new future
The salon becomes a saloon
The barber shop becomes a game store
These transformations utterly unforeseeable
By Byzantine zoning laws
White workhorse trucks jam
Our one-lane horsepath road
Bamboo staves and iron piping jut out
Gaily wrapped in coloured kerchiefs
After the deadly heat of summer your change began
Through the chill snowless months they continue
In springtime you will emerge shiny, new
Wreaths of congratulations standing in front
To welcome curious and customers
Until fashions or passions change
And you wrap yourself in silk
Again
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