her sweater was white.
white.
I go in, I come out
I go in, I come out, I go in —
white,
white,
white,
white,
red,
red,
red,
red,
black,
black,
black,
black
my hands smell like
solvents and
her sweater
was white
I go out to smoke
go into the egress
between these two shops
make my way into that little artery
the vein that splits open for air,
like mine for love
onto the path that opens like a mouth
just to consume
because people walk all around
sprawling about,
in and out of stores
carrying their crumbs and things
and it could be like
I'm on the promontory that overlooks it all, on the infinity of the outside edge, the border of glass, and they are so small,
such that they're like ants,
only I'm the ant
and they are not small at all
and her sweater
was
white
so why is it red?
was it always red?
I go out, I come in
I come out, and go in
take the whole cigarette in one long, torn up draw
and the next time I see her, her sweater is black
was it always black?
so I do it again
I wait
eye the clock
a group of five twelve times, thats a minute, but five times twelve times for sixty times to be nine and every hand just moves along, and
I take another smoke break
and my veins are curling in on themselves because
I go in
and her sweater
is red
and I can't stand it because the faucet in the bathroom is burning hot
no matter how far I tilt it to blue
but the metal is so cold against my palm
and the broom makes this terrible sound on the floor, like it's groaning to stop
and every time I look away and look back again, her sweater is
white,
white,
white,
white,
red,
red,
red,
red,
black,
black,
black,
black
and it's not the flickering light above me
that ticks on and on like the clock because
we're some one hundred paces apart
and whether she's in the sun of the storefront
or under the cold fluorescent bulbs
the color of her sweater doesn't swap, I realise, unless I blink
so I don't blink when she catches my gaze
and I don't blink when I wrap up my shift alone
and I don't blink when she's saying "good evening,"
and I don't blink the whole way home