MONDAY, the METRO
a few stops before I leave
he's in the aisle. "Caroline
Day" he smiles as I stand.
I can smell alcohol thick
air. Numbing haze, swerve
of the car. "She'll be so
surprised," he goes on.
In a suit, I'd never see
him but its his cart:
30, 30 ropes tight around
cloth, 2 bottles, look
like screw drivers to me.
"She'll be happy. "
Whoever she is, if she
is. I imagine she won't
be expecting this tall
man, sweat smell as I
move closer to the door,
maybe his wardrobe
for the whole year under
small knots. Then, in
the center, carefully
wrapped in saran wrap,
Kahil Gibran Prophet
2.
a letter sent
me into a rage, ate up
the afternoon. We
both flared quickly.
riding on the metro too
much seems ash when
I just wanted to say
"I see you smile
at the birds you
envied, able to
leave what
held them"
