Bourgeois Fiction (Day 2,993)

What she uses to wedge
beneath one leg to level
the table could be a match
book she no longer needs. Could be

a roll of used clichés she’s been saving
to stuff in his pipe. But it’s gone—ashes
have settled to the bottom
halfway across the country. The bowl

never held much to make it worth wasting
a light on. As for the rest, she’s busy
writing it down.

Skyway Anonymous

You were not allowed
up here—that hole
in the carpet couldn’t be
a careless discard

of one of you. A pizza
delivery man exits an elevator
to one of those office towers—can I

smell it? Oregano,
tobacco, the cigarette
that man outside on the corner
was smoking was too sweet

smelling to be
one of you. Old lovers
who were never really friends. A convenience

store becomes like a liquor
depot—no further purpose.
And I can go anywhere now.