Ode to a Particular Bowling Alley Cafe By Kelly Levan Sifting, sifting though the grilled cheese faces, the able-bodied napkin dispensers lined up silver on the disposable table cloth, we stand and hold, open and close, and things that come in bags fill us up, yes, I crave the papery folds of you, the bendable yellow of you. The chairs are full of crumbs, able-bodied bacteria in fertile human frowns flown in from wide cities and narrow alleys, we bend and breathe, mouth open, eyes closed -- fill us up, yes, I have been sifting again through punch clock punch slots looking for permanent ink. © 2001, Kelly Levan