iv.
I nod. I can’t see; her face;
iambic pentameter creates a thicket—
beats bounce in the adjacent car,
trying to spell me something.
Quack, quack say the Muscovy ducks.
Anotheryearpolis—
female voice, I lean in to order: syzygy—
-burger
-fries
-coke
+ -apple (nope).
I ripple away--left turn at EXIT:
a little gnaw on the straw, its accordian bridge
a nudge in the wash of next times
self-empathy, read from fry grease, jeez.
Time to eat.