I pick up the cup and watch
through its clearness as the liquid
moves along the rotating glass.
I pour it out over the grass
watering its roots with the cheapest
stuff the grocery store sells
to people like me.
People with more debt than money,
and more knowledge than sense
to apply it.
I see a cat with a broken tail
walking along the curb
on the far side of the street,
and part of me thinks about
following it, but I let it go.
I’m not good at making friends
even ones that can’t hold conversations
and would likely just spend time
with me for some water and food.
What were we thinking when
we invented these places?
So far from anything that matters,
and close to people all trying
to avoid each other.
“The moon is disappointing,”
says the old man on his back porch
getting high, and he never gives
a reason why. How could he though?
It’s not like I was asking.

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