I distract myself: open blinds, invite
the light and life’s bleary traffic
into this morning’s havoc of blue
coffee mug breaking in porcelain sink.
Google: fatigue, symptoms of—
No one cares when I say
this city has no gumption,
no green. Even with all this rain.
Even with all this rain, I join in.
I act like rain: tremble around town
until my boots soak through to socks,
find grace only in observation:
the neighbor’s cellar door,
its whitewash thin as an old t-shirt, peculiar
flesh peeking through—