I like the way your shirt creases
light blue and
ironed when you stretch on the other
side of the room in the chair that points you at the crisp
velvet of 7:07 PM Wisconsin Time
Carefully selected as a reminder of your
apathy and perhaps the added bonus of the inverse
image in the window
But every so often you filch a glimpse over your
arm and I can’t help but wonder how you don’t see the stark
contrast between us:
You, with your formal gray thermos and
perpetually opened word processor
single spaced
Me, with my pockets full of crumpled receipts and empty medication bottles
My posture My
teeth My
unwashed gym shoes