I snap out of dropping
my mother
on her head
while the young man
looks at his feet
as two dreams
of being
run into
by the newly pregnant
late bloomer
his father
warned him about
after filling
his backpack
in this place
paid for
by another
country’s
melancholy
where next

we share

a comb
forget
whose hair
was first
and refuse

to be sorry
for the baby
having gotten
its grandparents
down
for a nap