Cold Thai restaurant
waiting for friend
from old job.
Hearing broken record like
Thai elevator like music
hoping she's later so
poem can be written.
Now later, after
nice lunch, then
catastrophe trying to
be nice helping another
human being, driving
home through sleet,
talking to my son
on phone as he's
walking home in a
static storm, or so
it seemed, and my big dog
barked because I fed my
bird first, and my little
black dog with white specks of snow
barked because I fed
my big dog second, and
I weigh hari cari or
doing a drawing for this
abomination of a poem
and I choose the drawing.
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