White coats come out of the building
like kleenex after kleenex
pulled from the tall box

by an invisible hand
and they are making the sun hurt
even more. Come here, little electron,

can’t you hear the ice hissing at you?
It is the year for this kind of bend,
the things that the tumbling coats want

are taken away from them
and given to some other fear-goosed thing
and said fear-goosed thing

does not have the right hands.
Come here, unhappy bean, I know
you think you are a stone

with an itch inside. I promise you
this is only a blanket.