Read the lines from The Elements of San Joaquín.When autumn rains flatten sycamore leaves,The tiny volcanos of dirtAnts raised around their holes,I should be out of work. My silverware and stack of plates will go unusedLike the old, my two good slacksWill smother under a growth of lintAnd smell of the old dustThat risesWhen the closet door opens or closes. The skin of my belly will tighten like a beltAnd there will be no reason for pockets.