I wasn’t complaining. I was living
in a land where two double cheeseburgers cost less
than a single. Nice people were passing through the park
on their way home from a long day’s work,
and everyone honestly thought if something happened
in the snow, nobody saw it. Then the snow melted.
So I took to stealing. I threw myself at the gorgeous body
of a nightclub dancer in a leopard-skin outfit. It was the perfect kind
of love because I only wanted to be her from afar.
So I took to walking. I was baffled, however,
by everyone’s continued unwavering faith in the weatherman,
and their subsequent disappointments.
I never did find that one thing to live for, though,
other than life. I pretended, invested in some
symbols, but they never held up:
It got so windy.
I didn’t have a dog.
Surely one day we will all atone
for all the people we never called back.
This is one of 2 poems currently featured by Elizabeth Whittlesey. Read "Hospitality" here.
