America

Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together
I've got some real estate here in my bag

JJ's market. I always come here to work. But I never do any work.
I drink something. I write something, maybe. I watch people. I think of you.

kathy, I said as we boarded a greyhound in pittsburgh
michigan seems like a dream to me now

Something about herbal tea sounds like I should drink it. Peppermint chamomile, the barista said. That's fine. I get it twenty minutes later. I spill it before I find out, again, that it's tasteless. I stand up to get napkins, and I get a sudden spastic pain in my right hip instead, and I can't walk. It's their fault. There isn't a physical handicap they inherited which they haven't passed on to me. You laugh. Maybe that's why my hair is so grey. Maybe I'm just much older than I am.

So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field

People. I don't know why, but this guy looks so much like a chair. And the girl sitting on my right reading, she looks like Quentin Tarentino. Maybe Rachel Weiss too. She has a masculine chin and three pimples on her left cheek. She painted over them with make-up, but they're still there. They can't be hidden. Nothing can.

"kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why

I know why.

He's left-handed and is writing on a piece of paper on his lap like he's in love with his knee.

He's right-handed and his book is open. But his eyes are wandering around the room looking for her.

They're loud. She looks at me. She probably saw the stains on my shirt. Or she saw you in my eyes.

So we bought a pack of cigarettes and mrs. wagner pies
And we walked off to look for america

I never looked. They somehow found me. You found me.

Counting the cars on the new jersey turnpike
They've all gone to look for america

The tea is cold. My home. Stay awake a little. I'll call now and listen to you fall asleep.