Page 11

The poem reduces loyalty to a hard rule: honor the first commitment and do not split yourself between two people.

The opening contrast between a garden and a crowded avenue removes setting as an excuse, because the rule applies anywhere. Promise is treated as singular and binding rather than flexible. The short lines make the statement sound like a stern personal ethic rather than a meditation.

One-line working ethic: deal with the first person, never double-book, title shouts it as a place-agnostic rule.

The all-caps banner treats the rule as applicable equally to a garden or a crowded avenue, which is the poem's argument in compressed form: this is not just tavern-talk etiquette, it's a code. The rule's brutal simplicity — no matter what comes up — is the point; the poem refuses to ornament it with exceptions. It's closer to a handbill than a lyric.