Girl pushing stroller,
baby wrapped in plum-
hued blankets.  Wrapped too well,
says May.  (No comment, un-
familiar with plum things.)
May sifts her words, recalls

a year ago or so,
the lights that spun and swooped
and kept our sky a fright --
mother ship or what? --
not all that far from here.

A. Y. Tanaka