I am looking for the name
of the man who left me here.
We were catching a train to Boston
but there’s no rail here.
I am left with my suitcase on a
I could step off into nothing space.
The world could fit inside an egg shell;
hard gray wind.
We’re on the highway marked “evacuation
route” and we’re not moving.
It’s just you and me, Christmas morning,
no tree. We turn on the wall heater and
eat eggs. Our table doesn’t quite
fit in the kitchen.
The coffee can’t stop being bitter. It’s got no coping skills, a negative outlook.
You are dripping like the refrigerator has a leak that’s rotting through the floor.
The kitchen slopes that way.
You stand over there with the door open and I’m afraid you will fall in.
The fridge will go one night while we are sleeping.
It crushes our neighbor who was looking for a snack.
I know it’s not enough to call you snow clouds,