Maybe I am living on Mallomars and drinks illegal everywhere
but here you are applying to some sort job you
are making sure coffee is very hot for very famous people
you are wearing leather gloves a blue tie maybe I am missing
an airplane to San Francisco the day after Halloween and we don’t
go ice skating anyway because crowds or debt or
instant hot chocolate
maybe our eyes aren’t green no our hair
was never yellow and I am not blow drying mine while you
trim yours with an electric razor and we are not in love
when the power goes out in Jamaica on the last night of the year
three years from three years ago which is now
in the universe across town
a flame is unblooming into one man’s
match and the orange tip of one woman’s cigarette is a meteor falling
up
from the sidewalk to her mouth and neither one is sure
whether to believe in us
or not.