The smooth expanse of supple black leather that is my desk,
like a stretched and scraped skin left to dry and shine,
the biggest man you ever saw.
And the to-and-fros of bobbing heads from my window.
Tree branches like fingers
groping for that yellowing golden noose
These are all I have left,
these and my old worn cassette player.
We had good times.
Perhaps I should eat a slice of butterless toast
and go dance new-born in the rain.
This is the day I forget about you.