The fat one in the ratty grey sweatshirt
thumbing through job listings
says to anyone,

“You wanna know
who’s the most beautiful
woman of all time?
Marilyn Monroe.
Oh my God.
Not my dating type.
But oh my God.
I’d walk twenty-five miles a day
to find someone
that’s got that
much meaning.”

And I,
listening,
for an instant,
burn for something
that I would walk
twenty-five miles a day
to find.