Earlier, everyone was in knee boots, collars up.
The paper boy’s papers came apart
in the wind.
Now, nothing human moving.
Just a black squirrel fidgeting like Bogart
in The Caine Mutiny
My breath chalks the window,
gives me away to myself.
I like the intelligibility of old songs.
I prefer yesterday.
Cars pass, the asphalt’s on its back
smudged with skid. It’s potholed
and cracked; it’s no damn good.
Anyone out without the excuse of a dog
should be handcuffed
and searched for loneliness.
My hair is thinning.
I feel like tossing the wind a stick.
The promised snow has arrived,
heavy wet.
I remember the blizzard of…
People I don’t want to be
speak like that
I close my eyes and one
of my many unborn sons
makes a snowball
and lofts it at an unborn friend.
They’ve sent me an AAHP card.
I’m on their list.
I can be discounted now almost anywhere.
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