The curtains are billowing
androgynously. He is very peaceful.
Somebody says “book an hour.”
Another person (he is full of names)
is wearing a gray sweatshirt
and a pair of bluejeans he’s had on forever.
I know exactly where he’s taking me:
my old apartment with lacy curtains.
A wheezy chime from the direction
of the belltower. Capricious time.
Everybody loves that.
There is nothing that special
about a hamburger panic attack
except that I won’t be eating any more hamburgers.
