FALL/ WINTER 2010

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Adam Fisher

MY ORDINARY STREET 

This suburban street of development homes 
looks ordinary to the passer-by. 
But take the Tedescos at number twelve. 
Their daughter was the teller 
in cahoots with her friend 
who robbed her bank—split 
it fifty–fifty. When asked why 
a nice girl from the suburbs 
would do such a thing 
she shrugged. But if she’d heard 
of Willie Sutton, she’d have said, 
“That’s where the money is.” 
There’s that hotshot down at twenty, 
who thinks he’s a Soros 
 but still lives on our street 
 with the rest of the bourgeoisie. This 
 wizard of wall street, with his frameless 

glasses and black BMW  
is the one among us 
with the most toys. 
Or, what about the kid from number five 
who killed a girl who crawled from 
her window to meet him 
at midnight? He’s serving life. 
Then, there’s Margaret M. who 
wears dark glasses as if she is blind 
or cool. See her at midnight, 
sprinting in her nightie, 
doing laps around the block, 
as if the real Margaret 
is available only in the dark. 
      


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