1:45 on a Tuesday
I sit here.
I sit here
and drink coffee while watching
the world spin backwards
outside of this glass and
I am just confused about
people.
Whether wealthy or without
wicked or wonderful, we
are all here
together.

Where the saints are both sane
and insane and same with the slugs.

I sit here
across from the immigrant
service office that welcomed
our grandparents,
It has brick painted a dishonest
but happy white.
I watch happy and dishonest
people eat
and drink here.
They don’t bother one another
and nobody bothers me
here
the coffee is true and black
and the beer is even better
we are lucky
to be here,
where this glass keeps out the sidewalks and street cars.

Here at 1:45 on Tuesdays,
the saint and slugs look strangely similar.

And I am really just confused about
people.
As I watch the world spin outside
this glass and wonder why things can’t always
be how they
are
here.