|
anno_salutis
|
the city is struggling
because it is succeeding
beyond anything it ever asked
for or planned.
men without legal jobs
circle one another on street corners
and bump off of one another
in codes not picked up
by the errant tourists
looking for trouble
or walking between attractions.
a woman wears a garbage bag.
i step into a bar out of the rain.
you're sitting there alone,
the bartender acknowledges me
but doesn't ask what i want.
after some strange silence
we talk for a bit.
hours later, at your apartment
i ask you about your open marriage.
you dim the lights
your hair finds my hands
your back is taut
we both hold our breath
we exhale
sweat slaloms down the ridge
of your back.
our thighs squirm and pull
into a point.
i ask about your open marriage.
you tell me this is it.
and then i'm back into the streets
no one is at home,
there is no staying.
the city is struggling.
i navigate the dim lights.
i smell the back of my hand
from its base across the top
of my index finger,
before putting my hands
back on the wheel.
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150208
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