The Game Is Still the Same / It's Just on Another Level
Down the Wood
Un café, s'il vous plaît.
She studied in displacement politics
And knew he bore the face
Of one resigned to never finding home,
A passive refugee
Settling.
It never goes down smooth.
You cut your tongue on sugar cane.
The citrus sprays
As pulp is peeled and pulled away from skin,
The sweetest acid.
A lingered look,
A lighting touch,
The days of easy,
All the noncommittal hours,
Over.
Maybe just the bill.
- 12/4/19