It’s quiet in the yard.
Gray-green leaves
barely rustle.
Sun is out: I need to get off
this couch.
I was in Tangiers
where a kindergarten friend I hadn’t seen in eighteen years
tried to sell me dope.
I was in Moose Jaw, Canada;
in Skopia, Yugoslavia;
I was at Epidaurus
the night before Papadopoulos
was toppled by a coup—
now I’m here.
I pick up the phone
to a robot online,
listing my prescriptions to be filled.
We’re on this little ball
falling around the sun,
and sometimes I neglect
to brush my teeth.
Image Eva Blue
