A man offers me drink,
and I am amenable enough
to trade a beer for conversation
today.
He’s just moved,
so he must not know
that here was an antique store
(never open)
and a no parking sign
we knew to ignore.
He asks me out.
He can’t imagine
the funerals and therapist offices
I’ve been to this year.
He doesn't realize
that I only smoke
when I feel overwhelmed.
Is he beautiful
like a baby grabbing
at the new world?
Or will he trample me,
an unmarked grave?
I guess it’s better
that we can’t see time.
Who would call me beautiful?
Who would want to be here
drinking among the phantasm
construction crews and gasoline fumes?
Who wouldn't be tear-streaked grisly?
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