Zero

Two girls watch
an iced tea form a ring
on the wooden table
in the dining room
of a marraige.

Their hands are cupped in a shy way.

There are rings under the eyes
of an un-coupled man who is driving
rings around the rosie
for parking.

The girls curl their ringlets
which hang heavily, rounded
like potholes, which might hang the same way,
strung together in a mobile,
playing with the yellow gas
that rings the sun.