just inoculate your kids, leash the dog—
it’s so much easier than getting us all
worked up. aren’t you sick of hearing
how cold you must be? this is the city
for godssake—there’s no time for poetics.
we keep diaries (what could be
in there?) bump shoulders, smash
fingertips into the button
so we can cross, love altogether
too many people. feel it now?
you can’t remember now—now slips the mind.

I’m glad you brought up memory, though.
It’s cartography, right? here’s where we ate,
where I read Anna Karenina, where we
sat and drank, kept the beer between my knees.
It was so hot—so hot, frozen over now.

Here’s the sidewalk where we bit it
and kept smoking on our backs, laughing tar
oh’s into the December.
pretty useless now.
you want to know what we’re like?
we’re like the great winter
and the people trapped inside,
waiting for the plow or the go ahead.

Olivia Olson lives in Rochester, MI. Her poems have appeared in Miller’s Pond
and Bird’s Thumb.


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